


Ward of the Alchemist

by ivegoneslightlymad



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: & some Hot Girls, Alchemy, Angst, Blood Magic, Duelling, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Genius Harry, Grey Harry, Hot guys, Money, Multi, Plot, Politics, Quidditch, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 17:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 54,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19891831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivegoneslightlymad/pseuds/ivegoneslightlymad
Summary: Harry Flamel, the prodigiously talented son of the great alchemist, arrives at Hogwarts. Dumbledore didn't know where to send the Boy-Who-Lived, but settled on the people with the strongest wards he knew; the result is a Harry who actually knows what's going on, and has the tools to deal with it.





	1. A Letter, A Decision, Some Shopping

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! New fic; think the summary covers the premise pretty well. One thing to note; in this story, students start Hogwarts at the age of thirteen (the age they would be in third year in canon), and attend for six years rather than seven.
> 
> Otherwise, please read, review, and enjoy (although not necessarily in that order).

‘If I had a choice, my friend…’

Nicholas Flamel quirked an amused eyebrow.

‘We always have a choice, Albus.’ He said calmly. ‘But, in this case, I would struggle to argue that Perenelle and I are not the wisest option.’

‘You will take him?’

‘We will.’

Albus Dumbledore inclined his head gratefully to the the lady of the house, feeling oddly relieved. The world, of late, seemed to have divided itself into those who were eager to do his bidding, and those who wished him dead. To be begging favours of a man he had known as his teacher long before they became friends seemed a strange middle ground. Exhausted as he was by the burdens of responsibility and long years of war, he couldn’t help but feel a little like a child again under the cool, impassive gazes of the ancient couple. He had stepped from a nation ravaged by conflict, by horrors beyond imagining, into the museum stillness of the Flamels’ entrance hall. The fight against Voldemort had barely registered as a ripple across the wards that he knew had protected the alchemist, his wife, and his life’s work for hundreds of years. It was those wards he needed now. If he concentrated he could feel them humming around him, curious at this visitor, and ready to step in should they decide he posed a threat to those they were designed to shield.

Albus Dumbledore examined the sleeping infant lying peacefully in the cot floating by his side. Your aunt might have given you the love of a family, my child, he thought regretfully, but your safety is paramount, and I can offer you no better protection.

-

‘Is that it?’

Nicholas Flamel looked curiously at his ward, unused to such uncertainty from the boy he and his wife had raised.

‘It is.’ He confirmed.

Harry James Potter came and sat at the breakfast table, his eyes not for one moment leaving the envelope of heavy cream parchment emblazoned with its emerald ink address.

‘Would Beauxbatons not be a better option?’ He asked, making no move to reach for the letter.

‘Or Durmstrang. Even Koldovstoretz.’

The two of them looked up as Perenelle swept into the room, immaculate and imperious in robes of pale blue silk.

‘Hogwarts and Beauxbatons do not teach true Dark Magic.’ She continued, giving her husband a brief kiss on the lips, and her ward an even briefer press to the temple.

‘Koldovstoretz teaches only Dark Magic.’ The alchemist declared. ‘And Durmstrang under Karkaroff isn’t much better.’

Harry looked between his two guardians. He knew this was a conversation they had had numerous times over the previous year as his thirteenth birthday, and with it the necessity that he attend a school of magic, approached.

Nicholas Flamel was a Light wizard, an alchemist, dedicated to order and rationality, to clarity and knowledge and measured progress. Naturally, he advocated Beauxbatons, the school he himself had attended, and had always been a generous benefactor of. His wife was a Dark witch, a woman whose blood and magic sang for freedom, for flux and change and chaos. She, too, had attended Beauxbatons in her youth, but had watched through the centuries with disapproval as its curriculum became ever more constrained by the increasingly partisan French Ministry. A school where the wild magics still held sway was where she would choose to send Harry.

It was perhaps a shame, then, that neither of their desires would out. If little else in his future was certain, Harry knew that the next few years of it lay at Hogwarts. Where his parents had gone. Where all the wealthy and powerful children born to wizarding Britain attended school. Where Professor Dumbledore, the man who had settled him with his guardians, ruled.

Harry reached out across the table and drew the letter towards him. The Flamels paused in their debate to eye the movement. He could sense their resignation.

‘It is decided then.’

Perenelle’s words held no hint of question, and so he did not dignify them with a response as he carefully slit the envelope and examined its contents. A polite invitation offering him his place, a list of classes, and a second list containing the required equipment and reading.

‘We had best give you these, in that case.’

Harry looked up curiously, taking the parchments from the alchemist.

‘These are?’ He asked uncertainly, not quite sure whether what he seemed to be reading was true.

‘Adoption papers.’ Perenelle Flamel confirmed.

Harry looked at where the couple’s signatures were sprawled elegantly on their dotted lines, to where the gold wax seal of the Flamels and the black blood seal of Gringotts sat at the bottom of the parchment, and, finally, at the space for his own name and stamp.

He wasn’t quite sure what to think, or to say. The Flamels and their house elves had cared for him, had been there for as long as he could remember. They had fed and clothed and educated him, given him every advantage and protection. But they were not his parents. Lily and James Potter still smiled and kissed him goodnight from their photo at his bedside. It was strange, perhaps, to feel more for two faces in ink than for his guardians, but the Flamels had always kept a little emotional distance. He had wanted for nothing save love and affection. And so he hesitated. He was the last Potter. His name was one of the few things he still had of his parents.

‘Harry.’

He looked up to see Nicholas Flamel eyeing him understandingly.

‘This is not a blood adoption,’ the alchemist began, ‘unless you desire it to be. You will remain your parents’ son. Perenelle and I offer you our name, however, for a number of reasons. We have sheltered you here as best we can, and you have been shielded from the public eye. If you return to Britain as Harry Potter, as the Boy Who Lived, then you will be under immense scrutiny from the moment you set foot in Hogwarts.’

Harry nodded. He knew that. It was perhaps the strongest force pulling him towards Beauxbatons or Durmstrang. It was also, however, a fate to which he had resigned himself.

‘A student bearing the name Flamel would not attract much less attention.’ He pointed out.

Perenelle smiled slightly.

‘Perhaps not initially, but I suspect your fame would die down far more quickly.’ She paused, allowing him to see the sense of her words before continuing. ‘But that is not the only reason. Nicholas and I care for you. I do not pretend that we have been, or could ever replace, your parents. We are too old, too set in our ways to have been the mother and father you truly deserve, but I hope that we have cared for you to the best of our ability. We do care for you Harry, care for you deeply. We do not offer you our name to help you avoid the press. We offer it to you because we believe it will help to keep you safe, because Harry Potter is a target, and Harry Flamel is not.’ She paused for a moment. ‘We offer you our name because we would be proud if you bore it.’

Harry didn’t really know how to respond to that. He felt a strange lump form in his throat as he listened to Perenelle. He sat and thought for a few long moments, as the couple waited patiently with what looked oddly like hope in their eyes.

‘Thank you.’ He said eventually. ‘I think I would like to be a Flamel.’

Even as he spoke he worried that he was betraying his birth parents, felt like a coward for not deciding to bear their name with pride and damn the consequences. But he knew the couple spoke sense, and he felt that he owed them somehow, that he was indebted for their care, and that his name was all he had to give.

I will not remain a Flamel forever, he pledged silently to himself, before reaching inside his shirt to pull the fine chain from around his neck. A gold signet ring dangled from it, bearing a blood red ruby engraved with the Potter coat of arms.

He took the quill wordlessly from Nicholas, signing his birth name, his blood name, before pressing the ring into the molten crimson wax Perenelle dribbled onto the parchment. He took a deep breath before taking the needle, but calmly punctured his forefinger with it and allowed the drop of blood that welled to fall onto the great black Gringotts stamp. He felt a faint pulse of magic from it as it approved the blood, and watched as the document duplicated itself before the original rolled itself neatly and disappeared.

-

Isabella de Cisneros wrinkled her pretty pureblood nose with distaste.

‘Why must you two compete all the time?’

Sebastien Rosier snorted at her, unimpressed.

‘To get better.’ Harry told her, before grinning. ‘And to keep Sebastien in his place. If we didn’t regularly pull his head from his arse he’d end up living in there.’

His friend glared at him, before kicking off from the ground.

‘Come on then, Potter. Isabella will judge.’

Harry rolled his eyes before following Sebastien into the air, delighting in the momentary feeling of freedom.

‘How high?’

Sebastien smirked, sandy hair blowing about his face.

‘I don’t know, pretty boy, how high are you brave enough to go?’

Harry didn’t answer him, instead taking off in a steep climb, leaving his friend trailing in his wake.

‘High enough?’ He asked with his own smirk when Sebastien eventually caught up.

‘I suppose this will do.’ The other boy admitted grudgingly, though Harry knew perfectly well Sebastien had expected him to stop a thousand feet before he had. At the height they were hovering, the entirety of the island the Flamels called home sprawled before them. A couple of square miles of cliffs, rolling hills and shallow beaches, it lay a few score miles off the southeastern tip of Cornwall, an Unplottable no man’s land hovering between the jurisdictions of Magical Britain and France. The Flamels’ villa was clearly visible sitting in its bay upon the southern shore, its graceful terraces and colonnades, fountains and spires tiny from such a height as they glowed in the summer sun.

‘So, last to pull up wins.’

Harry returned his attention to his friend and nodded his agreement.

‘On three. Two. One.’

The boys dropped from the sky like stones, pressed flat to the handles of their brooms, each knowing they had to keep pace with the other or risk being called a coward.

The speed was dizzying, exhilarating. Even with the charms on his Nimbus 2000 displacing most of the air in front of him, the wind that clawed at Harry’s face was almost painful as he urged the broom on. He could feel Sebastien level with him, a few feet away, could sense the other boy struggling to keep his broom from corkscrewing. He grinned, feeling his teeth chill instantly. He knew he was the better flier. Sebastien was brave, foolishly so, but Harry was talented, and that trumped whatever the other boy had to offer. The ground was getting closer at a terrifying rate now, filling his vision with green grass and pale sand and dark sea.

Just a little longer…

Harry yanked up on his broom’s handle at the last possible moment, desperately steadying it as the tail kicked out and he span in a semi-circle, inches from the ground, reaching down to run his hand…

In the exhilaration of the moment, it took a second for the thud of his friend’s landing to penetrate his consciousness.

Shit.

He flung himself down next to the crumpled form, Isabella sprinting across the hilltop to reach them.

‘Missy!’ Harry called desperately, yanking out his wand to cast the only human-stasis charm he knew on his friend.

The house elf popped into existence next to him, taking in the situation with wide, horrified eyes,

‘Take us to the house.’ Harry ordered, taking hold of his friend with one hand and the elf with the other.

The last thing he saw was Isabella’s shocked, flushed face surrounded by blue, blue sky before they landed on the soft carpet of Perenelle’s elegant sitting room.

‘What on earth-’ he heard her exclaim as she took in the situation at a glance, before standing quickly from her chair and coming over to them, her wand appearing in her hand as she automatically strengthened Harry’s stasis spell.

‘Missy,’ she said calmly, not taking her eyes from the still form, ‘would you bring the silver bowl with the blue enamel from my study? Oh, and you might collect my husband, too.’

The house elf disappeared with a crack as Perenelle Flamel fixed a severe gaze on her ward.

‘Quidditch?’

‘The Wronski Feint.’ Harry agreed miserably.

She nodded sharply.

‘Then you will be the one to heal your friend, to punish you for your foolishness.’

Against his will, Harry felt his eyes widen. Nicholas would have used potions to fix Sebastien, keeping him safely unconscious whilst they did their work. Perenelle’s methods involved Dark Magic, and such spells always exacted their price.

Missy reappeared, carrying a broad, shallow dish of hammered silver, inlaid with swirling patterns in dark blue enamel.

‘Your friend has suffered a severe concussion.’ Perenelle began clinically. ‘In addition to a shattered wrist, broken shoulder, and two cracked ribs.’

Harry winced in sympathy, feeling his dread at what was about to come increase.

‘I will open a healing connection between the two of you.’ She continued. ‘You are uninjured?’

Harry nodded, though he couldn’t help feeling a little offended that she would think he could injure himself on a broom.

‘Excellent, then your body will provide the template for the repairs Sebastien’s requires, as well as the magic to effect the healing.’

Harry’s jaw clenched. He knew such connections were powerful, but also that the exchange never ran only one way.

‘Is this really necessary, my dear?’

Perenelle Flamel ignored her husband as he came into the room, instead waving her wand to draw some blood from the unconscious boy and spill it into the silver dish. Harry gave in to the stare she directed at him, and used his own wand to mirror her action, watching as his blood joined his friend’s.

The alchemist’s wife began murmuring unintelligibly in Latin, cupping the bowl in her hands and swirling the contents slowly round.

‘You had best take a seat.’ Nicholas advised, guiding Harry gently to a chair.

Harry was only too grateful for the advice as he began to feel dizzy, a throbbing pain starting at the back of his skull. He gritted his teeth as the intensity increased, and barely suppressed a gasp as his right wrist jerked with a spasm as the magic examined its construction. He leant back into the soft upholstery, breathing heavily at the sudden burn in his ribcage.

‘Done.’ Perenelle announced a few agonising seconds later, lowering the dish and vanishing its contents to sever the connection. Harry felt the pain begin to fade, but he’d been exhausted by the drain of his magic having been used to heal such severe injuries so quickly. His eyes were just beginning to drop closed when they were forced to jerk open.

‘You left me!’

He swallowed as he stared into the angry caramel eyes of Isabella de Cisneros, the furious youngest daughter of the Portuguese Ambassador to Magical France. He gestured helplessly at Sebastien, whom he could see beginning to stir.

‘He was injured.’

Isabella tossed her head, dark curls flying, apparently unimpressed.

‘He doesn’t look injured.’ She declared, eyeing their friend, who was slowly sitting up on the floor.

Harry gritted his teeth and moved over to help Sebastien.

‘I won.’

Harry couldn’t help but snort with laughter at the boy’s proud expression.

‘Almost.’ He replied, dropping a handful of grass into his friend’s lap. ‘I think we drew, just one of us took less collateral damage.’

-

‘So, Hogwarts.’

‘Hogwarts.’ Harry agreed, lying across his bed and staring up at the canopy.

‘It is a shame we will all go to different schools.’ Isabella said, curled up on a big cream cushion in a window seat looking out over the sea.

Sebastien nodded, although Harry knew his friend was excited about going to Durmstrang. The Rosiers were of French extraction and had lived in England for many generations, but they were a Dark family, and had sent their children to Durmstrang for as long as anyone could remember. Isabella was a little older than the other two and had already spent a year at Beauxbatons. She had returned from the Pyrenees at the beginning of the summer, tanned and insufferably superior.

‘Will you know anyone at Hogwarts?’ Isabella asked curiously, stretching out languorously, her hair gleaming in the afternoon sunlight flooding through the window behind her.

‘No.’ Harry told her shortly. ‘Why do you think you two are my friends?’ He didn’t wait for a response. ‘Because you’re not involved with British wizarding society.’

He cursed himself for his bluntness when he saw Sebastien flinch slightly.

‘And so your identity is safe with us.’ Isabella concluded, before smiling at him wickedly and sitting up. ‘Are you quite sure that’s the only reason you’re friends with us?’

Unfortunately for her, Harry wasn’t diverted by the tempting picture her newly curvaceous figure was presenting.

‘Well, I’m struggling to think of any others.’ He responded blandly, giving in to a small smile when he saw her pout.

‘So you’re going to have to make some new friends?’ Sebastien asked, scowling slightly.

‘Jealous, Rosier?’ Isabella asked.

The boy shook his head, flushing.

‘Of course not.’ He scoffed.

-

‘Diagon Alley?’ Harry repeated.

‘Indeed, although if you don’t want to go then I can have the elves collect your school things?’ Perenelle baited him.

Harry frowned at her, and she chuckled.

‘However, before we go, you will have to become Harry Flamel.’

Harry struggled to mask his confusion.

‘You look too much like your parents.’ Perenelle told him bluntly. ‘And your scar needs to be hidden if you're to have a chance of anonymity.’

‘Glamours or potions?’ Harry asked resignedly.

‘Glamours, I think.’ Perenelle declared after debating for a moment. ‘Even Nicholas would struggle to brew a potion that would hold you in the same appearance semi-permanently, and nothing save for a powerful blood-based spell will hide a curse scar like yours.’

‘I agree.’ The alchemist said. ‘Although I do have a potion that should help to smooth out the magical fluctuations of any glamour, and so help to prevent any of those particularly sensitive to magic from suspecting your appearance is an illusion.’

-

It was odd, Harry thought, watching a stranger blink as he did, smile with him, and stand from the chair in front of the mirror as he himself got up.

Nicholas had informed him that there was no way to alter his height in the long term without significant risk, and so he had kept his slightly above average frame. Perenelle, it turned out however, knew her work well. Glamours, which fell somewhere in between the branches of charms and transfiguration, were notoriously difficult to do well. And yet she had seemingly managed to strip away a few pounds of muscle from Harry’s body, pushing him away from the obvious fitness of his flying and exercise-formed body towards a skinnier frame. She had softened his features slightly, giving his nose a slight bend and returning a small amount of baby fat to his cheeks. His eyes had been dulled from their emerald green to a more olive hue, and his dark brown hair lightened to a dirty blond. Skin tanned by hours spent on a broom in the sun and swimming in the sea paled to match that of someone who spent most of their time indoors.

‘Very handsome.’ Perenelle nodded, pleased with her work.

Harry wasn’t quite so sure, but knew that most of his uncertainty was due to the strangeness of his appearance.

‘Will you be disguising yourselves?’ He asked, his voice sounding slightly odd to his ears as it spoke through new lips, and a mouth whose shape had changed slightly.

‘Nicholas and I will both take some ageing potion.’ She replied calmly.

Harry couldn’t help but grin at the thought of his nearly seven hundred year old guardians taking something to make themselves look more ancient. The Elixir of Life was a peculiar substance, he mused, glancing at Nicholas, who was looking at him as though he could read his mind. The old alchemist’s hair was as white as chalk, but his face seemed ageless; hollow-cheeked but unwrinkled, parchment skin stretched over bone but glowing with health. And his eyes, those cool blue eyes, had seen more than any man had a right to.

Perenelle was the same. She was clearly not youthful, for the vitality her face possessed was not that of the young, but the spark of a long life lived and loved and reconciled with. Her fine, dark eyes were impossibly knowing, cast into frequent shadow by hair that was long and lustrous, black as obsidian.

‘Ready to go now?’ The subject of his musings asked amusedly.

Harry blushed slightly at being caught, but inclined his head.

‘Excellent.’ Perenelle waved her wand and Harry felt his robes flutter briefly, adapting to his new shape.

-

The Leaky Cauldron was… interesting, he supposed. It was certainly very dark, and probably quite dirty. It smelled of stale beer and strong spirits, and was dotted with customers that Harry couldn’t help but think his guardians wouldn’t want him consorting with. It was also, however, the location of the least conspicuous publicly accessible Floo to Diagon Alley. Even so, as the three of them stepped from the flames in their expensive robes, drawing curious looks from most of the pub’s occupants, he couldn’t help but think another entrance would have served just as well.

He followed the Flamels as they swept past the stares and through to a small courtyard open to the sky.

‘I hope I remember this.’ Nicholas muttered as he drew his wand and tapped a series of bricks. Harry watched as the wall began to shift with a deep grating sound, rearranging itself into a broad archway.

Diagon Alley was certainly not an alley. The street they stepped out onto was at least forty feet wide and stretched far into the distance in either direction, its neatly cobbled surface baking gently in the sun.

The ambient magic in the air was intoxicating, clinging to scores of witches and wizards as they made their way about their business, radiating from the brightly coloured shop fronts and humming around the stalls of the dozens of street vendors.

‘Robes first, I think.’ Perenelle decided. ‘They may take several hours to have finished.’

‘How long is it since you’ve visited London?’ Harry asked curiously as he absorbed the sights around him.

‘Nineteen forty-three, I think,’ Nicholas said after a moment. ‘I love the city, truly, but I have no desire to be dragged back into its politics. I believe my last visit must have been during the war against Grindelwald. The goblins demanded that I provide them with some additional liquidity because the European governments were all burning through their gold reserves and much of it was going overseas.’

‘You agreed?’ Harry asked curiously.

‘I did, in the end. It does no harm to keep the goblins on one’s side, and I made sure that all of the gold was returned in the years after the war as countries repaid their loans. It would not do to disrupt the international supply too much.’

Harry frowned slightly, having never thought particularly hard about the issue. He had known that as soon as the goblins found out about the existence of the Philosopher’s stone in the 16th century they had launched an expedition to seize it from the Flamels. Harry had always assumed greed to have been their motivation, but he supposed now that they were as likely to have wanted to destroy it. The power it wielded could, in the wrong hands, he realised, throw the global economy into chaos.

‘Good morning!’ A neatly robed blonde witch with gleaming pins in her hair greeted them cheerfully as Perenelle led the way into a smart dark green fronted shop called Twilfit & Tattings.

‘Do calm down, dear.’ An older witch who bore a striking resemblance to the younger admonished as she joined them, sweeping her eyes over the three of them, and lingering on their clothes.

‘French?’

Perenelle inclined her head gracefully and allowed a soft French inflection into her voice as she replied.

‘Indeed. Our grandson will being going to Hogwarts in September, and we require that he be suitably outfitted with the necessary uniforms.’

The older woman nodded briskly.

‘If you would follow me, young man. Ariella will be happy to provide refreshments if you would like to wait?’ She asked, glancing back at the Flamels.

‘Thank you, but my wife and I have another matter to attend to, and so will leave Harry in your capable care. Half an hour?’ Nicholas replied.

A brisk nod was the only response as the woman took her charge through to a wood-panelled fitting room.

‘Robe off if you please, young man.’

Harry shrugged the garment of navy silk off his shoulders, and noted the approving look the woman gave it as she examined it on her way to hang it carefully on the wall.

‘Monsieur Moreau?’ She asked.

Harry nodded.

‘My mother’s preferred couturier in Paris.’

‘And mine.’ The woman agreed as she flicked her wand to send a silver measuring tape fluttering around him. ‘What was your name, young man?’

Harry knew she had heard his own name earlier, and so was asking for his family’s, curiosity apparently sufficiently aroused by the costliness of his clothing.

‘Harry Dubois.’ He said, giving the name Perenelle had suggested he use for their shopping trip. He would not declare himself a Flamel until he arrived in the relative privacy of Hogwarts. Here in London there were bound to be dozens of reporters, and just as many enemies of his new father.

‘Astana Tattings.’ The woman introduced herself at last, nodding at his own name with no flicker of recognition.

-

Just under half an hour later Harry stepped back out onto the street with his guardians. He had a room filled with clothes Perenelle had bought him in Paris and Milan, and so had no need to search for any of the casual and formalwear his list had suggested he bring with him. Madame Tattings had promised that his school robes, shirts and trousers would be ready by the early afternoon. Harry followed Nicholas and Perenelle as they led him to a luggage shop that he couldn’t help but feel, judging by the display in the window, was patronised by very few schoolchildren. He left the shop burdened by a pair of elegant cases, bound in fine Hungarian Horntail hide and chased with silver, whose internal volume was twice their natural external volume, which itself could shrink to the size of a muggle briefcase when locked. The expansion and Featherlight charms came with the trunks, but when the shopkeeper had offered security protections the alchemist had politely refused, informing Harry that he and Perenelle would be ensuring that no one was able to access his luggage.

Aravut’s Apothecary was next, where Nicholas insisted upon purchasing Harry a solid gold cauldron and set of scales, informing him that equipment made out of any other material would interfere with whatever he was brewing. Harry, having had some experience of making potions with the alchemist, knew that he would never match his guardian’s instinctive talent, but was nevertheless grateful for any advantage that his tutelage could provide. Nicholas examined the list of ingredients first year students were instructed to provide themselves with, before pronouncing it ‘adequate’ and going on to add several dozen additional substances and bits of animal to the ebony case that would contain Harry’s supplies.

Flourish & Blotts, a huge bookshop with five floors of shelving and volumes on every subject imaginable stretching out into the far distance, provided the set texts for a first year Hogwarts student. Harry collected a few additional books as they wandered around, but he knew that the Flamel library was without equal and that his guardians were more than happy to allow him access to whatever material he was interested in.

‘Now, a wand.’ Nicholas declared as they left the shop.

‘I already have a wand.’ Harry protested, frowning.

‘Not a wand with the Trace on it.’ Perenelle reminded him. ‘All wands used by minors in wizarding Britain, as well as France, and most of the world’s other magical communities, must have the Trace on them. Of course, the governments can only detect the magic when it’s not shielded by wards, but turning up at Hogwarts with a wand that has no restrictions would cause trouble.’

Harry knew they were right, but also that he wasn’t going anywhere without the wand he already owned.

‘I will rejoin you gentlemen shortly, I have something to do.’ Perenelle said suddenly, looking distracted.

Nicholas nodded his wife off equably before leading Harry further down the street.

Ollivander’s occupied a narrow shopfront, its name and the ancient date of its founding picked out in faded gold leaf upon peeling black paint. A brass bell rang softly as they entered, dust motes swirling up from the wooden floor to spiral in the faint beams of sunlight breaking through the grimy windows.

‘Ah, Mr Potter, I’ve been expecting you.’

Harry narrowed his gaze at the old man with flyaway hair who’d ridden to the front of the shop on a sliding ladder.

‘Mr Ollivander.’ Nicholas greeted the wand maker calmly. ‘I trust we can keep my ward’s identity between ourselves.’

Beetle-black eyes fixed themselves on the alchemist.

‘Of course, Lord Flamel, my silence is absolute.’

Nicholas seemed unsurprised that he’d been identified as he moved further into the shop, looking curiously around at the tall shelves stacked with hundreds upon hundreds of narrow boxes.

‘Harry requires a wand.’

‘Of course, Lord Flamel; I sell nothing else. Now, let me see.’ Ollivander said, rounding his counter to come and stand in front of Harry. Harry noted with surprise that the old man was only a couple of inches taller than he was as he stood under the wand maker’s examination.

‘You’re glamoured, of course.’ He murmured. ‘So my measuring tape will be of little use.’

Harry almost jerked away as the man grasped him suddenly and began spidering his hand up his forearm.

‘I thought so. Already bound to a wand. Might I take a look?’ He asked politely, even as he held his hand out expectantly.

Harry reluctantly twisted his wrist at an amused nod from Nicholas, allowing his wand to snap from its holster into his hand, before handing it over.

‘Magnificent.’ Ollivander murmured as he took the wand over to rest on a purple velvet cloth before drawing out an eyeglass and examining it in minute detail.

‘Thirteen inches, blackwood of some kind, I suspect African. Completely rigid, of course, and the core… the heartstring of a?’

He trailed off.

‘Nundu.’ Harry supplied.

‘A nundu!’ Ollivander exclaimed with apparent excitement. ‘Fascinating. I fear I cannot identify its maker…’ Here he paused again, clearly fishing for information.

‘I would be very surprised if you could.’ Nicholas said. ‘She died some considerable time before you were born.’ He said no more, to the wand maker’s apparent disappointment.

‘Powerful, yes, very powerful.’ Ollivander nodded to himself as he returned the wand to its owner and scuttled off to search through the teetering stacks of boxes.

‘Try this.’ He exclaimed suddenly, dropping a box onto the counter and removing a long, dark wand.

Harry took it cautiously and felt a soft prickle of magic.

‘No.’

Ollivander nodded, not seeming to be disappointed.

Another half dozen wands followed in rapid succession, covering the counter with open boxes and brightly coloured bolts of velvet. Multicoloured sparks and smoke rings filled the dusty air as Harry waved and discarded the suggestions.

‘Tricky customer, eh? Don’t worry, we’ll get you sorted out.’

‘Might I suggest something a little more flexible, more suited to Light magics?’ Nicholas suggested politely from the conjured chair he had settled himself on.

The wand maker looked startled before he nodded and darted off.

Three more options were refused before Harry grasped the handle of a bone white wand that seemed to reach out eagerly for him even before he touched it.

‘This one.’ He declared, giving the wand a twirl and conjuring a brief fall of rain that disappeared before it reached the ground.

‘Hmm.’ Ollivander said, eyeing him. ‘A curious combination, that one. I had quite given up on finding anyone to match it to. Water ash and phoenix feather, twelve and a half inches, flexible.’

‘How much do I owe you?’ Harry asked, placing his new wand carefully back in its box.

‘Fifty-five galleons, young man.’ Ollivander told him gravely.

Harry counted out and handed over the gold wordlessly, waving Nicholas off when he came over to pay. He’d had access to a Potter trust account since birth. He’d been gravely offended when, after learning of its existence at the age of eight, he’d offered to pay for his upkeep and had his guardians laugh at him. He knew that the Philosopher’s Stone could provide an essentially limitless supply of gold, but his pride still felt deeply uncomfortable accepting the Flamels’ charity.

‘Right, is that everything now?’ Nicholas asked, looking down at Harry as they walked back out into the sunshine.

‘Aside from a familiar, which I…’

‘Now have.’ Perenelle finished for him as she rejoined their pair of them.

Harry’s eyes were drawn to the wicker crate she was holding, which seemed to be shaking in her grasp. He knelt down in front of it as she placed it on the ground, and carefully undid the leather straps holding it closed. He jerked back hastily and barely missed having an eye gouged out as the flaps burst open and a sleek black cat leapt out. The creature calmed down almost immediately upon being freed, however, and began wending its way around his knees, purring softly. Cautiously, he reached out and picked it up, cradling the cat gently and stroking it behind the ears. It began to purr more loudly, and twisted to fix glowing golden eyes on him, vague approval in their depths.

‘He’s an Egyptian pureblood.’ Perenelle said. ‘Only a couple of months old, with some growing to do. I saw him staring at me from a shop window and knew that the two of you would be perfect for one another. He reminded me of you, somehow.’ She said, almost fondly, before snorting. ‘The shopkeeper had no idea what he had; gave me the creature for forty galleons, when by any right he should be worth a few thousand.’

Harry’s lips quirked with amusement as the cat seemed to nod its head smugly in agreement with her words.

‘Well, I think-’ Perenelle broke off, turning her head sharply.

Harry looked at her curiously, and jerked to his feet when he heard what sounded like screams coming from the direction she was staring in. He clutched his new familiar to his chest and followed her gaze to see trails of smoke curling into the air above shop fronts a couple of hundred yards away.

‘We need to leave.’ Nicholas said calmly as people began to rush past them, apparently fleeing the disturbance.

Harry flicked his wand into his hand, and tried to juggle both cat and weapon in his grip. He didn’t know what was going on, but habit instilled by long hours of training had him immediately prepared to defend himself.

‘No.’ Perenelle said, clearly mistaking his intention. She was staring up the street, ignoring the witches and wizards pushing around them, shouting with alarm. ‘That fire was not caused by accident.’

They watched as a great stream of flame burst into existence above the heads of the fleeing crowd and poured into the front of a big, bright red shop.

‘Shit.’ Harry said, and for once he wasn’t reprimanded for his language.

‘We’re going, now. The aurors will be here-’ Perenelle broke off again and staggered back a step as a great wall of orange flame swept across the street barely twenty feet in front of them.

A hand grasped Harry’s shoulder.

‘Portus.’

He felt a vicious jerk behind his navel before he was spinning through the air in a whirl of light, his new familiar yowling and clawing at him as he tried to escape his arms. Harry barely managed to remain standing as they landed on the floor of a marble pavilion perched atop a steep hill on the Flamels’ island home.

The building overlooked the Flamels’ villa, connected by a long, shallow staircase cut into the hillside and sheltered by a delicate colonnade. As it lay beyond the main house’s wards, it was used as an arrival point for those travelling to the island.

Harry felt those wards examining them carefully as they walked slowly down to the villa, his new familiar protesting as they poked at him. Nicholas and his wife had spent centuries designing and building the magical barriers that shielded their home, fuelled by limitless resources and their own brilliance. Nicholas himself had acknowledged that there might be flaws in the system, but that scores of wizards and witches, and goblins and vampires, had tried to find them, and none had ever succeeded.

‘Well, that was an exciting first visit to Britain.’ Harry remarked lightly, cat at last settled in his lap contentedly as they sat down in a large drawing room facing the sea.

‘Indeed.’ Perenelle replied drily, summoning a house elf to bring them refreshments.

‘Do you have any idea what happened, darling?’ Nicholas asked his wife mildly.

‘I sensed one, perhaps two, people. They were using powerful Dark spells, but I suspect that we will know nothing more until the English papers arrive in the morning.’

-

The Daily Prophet landed on their breakfast table shortly after sunrise the next day, neatly pressed and on a silver platter.

‘INFAMOUS COUSINS ESCAPE AZKABAN AND ATTACK DIAGON ALLEY’ Announced the headline in bold black print. It surmounted three photos. The topmost filled the whole width of the page and showed a few second loop of great flames rising ominously above the shells of a row of shops. The two photos below it pictured a man and a woman with shared aristocratic features worn gaunt by starvation, gnashing their teeth and yanking at the chains that held them in their cells, their dark eyes deep and mad.

During the early hours of yesterday morning, the peaceful bustle of London’s Diagon Alley was torn apart by a brutal and destructive attack perpetrated by two of the most vicious and notorious criminals in this country’s history. Assumed by almost everyone to be safely confined to Azkaban for the rest of their days, the Prophet can in fact reveal that Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange escaped from the prison-fortress some two weeks ago. Reliable sources have informed us that this information was kept secret by direct order of the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, himself.

Minister Fudge’s attempt to protect his own standing and reputation has now been revealed as the act of dangerous and reprehensible cowardice it was. Uninformed witches and wizards going about their innocent business were forced to flee cursed fire wielded by two mass-murderers.

‘It’s a miracle I wasn’t killed!’ Says Horatio Aravut, owner of Aravut’s Apothecary. ‘Sirius Black came into my shop and knocked me unconscious!’ Mr Aravut’s apothecary was the only premises on the upper part of Diagon Alley to escape the flames, although his stock was destroyed almost in its entirety.

The two criminals were forced to flee the scene of their crimes by the eventual arrival of a squad of aurors dispatched by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but we note that it took nearly a quarter of an hour for them to do so, and that both Black and Lestrange remain at large.

‘Someone clearly wants to bring down the Minister.’ Perenelle noted.

Readers need hardly be reminded why Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange were incarcerated…

The article continued in that vein, going on, in spite of its claim, to describe in minute detail the many crimes which had led to the imprisonment of the pair. But Harry had stopped listening to the alchemist’s rich, slow voice as he read the piece aloud.

Sirius Black. The man who had betrayed his closest friends. Who had cost Lily and James Potter their lives, and Harry his parents. Now free.


	2. A Steam Train, Some Friends, A Hat

‘Happy Birthday.’

‘Happy Birthday, Harry.’

Harry smiled at his adopted parents as he joined them at the breakfast table, eyeing the champagne and smoked salmon.

‘Please, help yourself.’ Perenelle invited, gesturing gracefully. ‘Isabella and Sebastien will be joining us at lunchtime.’

Harry grinned. He hadn’t seen his friends since the day before he’d been to Diagon Alley.

‘But, before they come, Perenelle and I would like to give you this.’

Harry took the small box gingerly, opening it to find a ring, a fine band of gold, the soft yellow of a high carat hardened from impractical softness by alchemy, surmounted by a fire opal. Harry carefully picked up the ring, turning it in his fingers to see the gently flickering flame floating deep within the stone.

‘You are a Flamel now, Harry.’ Perenelle told him. ‘It is only right that you should wear the ring to prove it.’

‘Thank you.’

Harry carefully slipped it onto his left ring finger. He felt enchantments on the ring adjust its size before the magic expanded and washed over him, leaving him feeling a pleasant glow.

‘The ring will allow you access to all of our properties.’ Nicholas began. ‘It will permit you to portkey here in an emergency, through almost any ward. It is also public proof of your connection to us. Perenelle and I have enemies, of course, but also friends, and our name has power. At Hogwarts, that power is yours to use, to wield, to protect.’

-

‘It must be somewhere here.’ Harry said, looking around the station interestedly.

He, Nicholas and Perenelle had portkeyed to a house the Flamels owned in muggle London. They’d taken a car from the street in Mayfair to King’s Cross, the alchemist and his wife looking slightly uncomfortable shut inside the muggle vehicle. Now, standing outside the station in casual robes draped with Notice-Me-Not charms, Harry led the way through the crowds of muggles.

Nicholas hummed curiously as he examined one of the walls between platforms nine and ten.

‘Fascinating. It’s not just an illusion, you know,’ he began, glancing back to them, ‘if it was then any random muggle could accidentally slip through. It’s a real wall that vanishes in the presence of someone with magic, is replaced momentarily by an illusion, and then returns. I should imagine that it is only at the beginning and end of each school term than it is anything other than a perfectly ordinary mass of bricks.’

‘Fascinating, darling, shall we move on?’ Perenelle prompted, before walking through the barrier, followed by Harry’s inconspicuously levitated luggage.

The Hogwarts Express was an impressive sight, even Harry had to admit. Its gleaming, steaming red and black bulk dominated a platform which was almost devoid of students and parents so long before its departure. Harry had wanted to find his own compartment on the train, to have people come to him rather than be forced to join them, a social supplicant. His guardians had also come undisguised, and although he didn’t doubt their ability to deal with any situation, he was eager to minimise the risk of them being identified in public.

‘Well, this is it.’ Nicholas said, eyeing the train before turning to his adopted son. ‘Perenelle and I will miss you, Harry. The house will be much quieter without you.’

‘A relief, I’m sure.’ Harry said drily.

‘Hardly.’ Perenelle replied, smiling, before she stepped forward to clasp him in a brief embrace and press a kiss to his forehead.

Harry turned and hugged Nicholas too.

‘We will see you at the weekend. Stay safe.’

Harry nodded and smiled at the two of them before flicking his Ollivander wand, which he had to remind himself to use, into his hand and taking over the levitation of his cases from Perenelle.

-

Harry looked up as someone was at last brave enough to knock briefly on the compartment door before sliding it open. Adonis opened his eyes to glare at him in protest as he stopped stroking. The cat had been given his name by Harry when he’d woken up the morning after getting him to find the creature sitting in front of a mirror in his room admiring himself. Perenelle had objected, claiming that Narcissus would have been a far more appropriate name, but Harry preferred Adonis, and his new familiar had seemed to agree.

‘Hi, would you mind if my friend and I sat with you?’

Harry smiled at the pretty blonde, gesturing to the bench across from him.

‘Of course not, how could I ever refuse the company of two such beautiful women?’

The girl returned his expression, inclining her head politely as she stepped into the compartment, her dark-haired friend following closely and grinning.

‘Look, Daphne, a man trying to charm us already. I told you we’d be beating them off.’

‘I’m not necessarily opposed…’ Harry began, smirking slightly, ‘but I’ve always been taught to take a girl on a date before letting her beat me off.’

The dark-haired girl flushed violently. The blonde’s marble cheeks tinged slightly, but she smiled at him.

‘I think Tracey meant with a stick.’ She told him drily.

Harry lifted an eyebrow.

‘That sounds marginally less enjoyable.’ He acknowledged. ‘Daphne and Tracey, right?’

The blonde girl nodded, extending a hand politely.

‘Daphne Greengrass.’

‘Harry Flamel.’ Harry introduced himself, gratified to see the slight widening of her eyes as he looked up from pressing his lips to her knuckles.

‘Flamel?’ Tracey asked immediately, apparently far less polished than her friend. ‘As in Nicholas Flamel?’

Harry inclined his head. ‘My father,’ he said, ‘Miss?’

‘Davis. Tracey Davis.’ The girl introduced herself at last, continuing to blush as she put out her own hand for a kiss.

’A pleasure. You are both to be first years as well, I take it?’

‘We are.’

‘Do you have any idea which houses you’ll be in?’ He asked curiously.

‘I-’ Tracey began immediately, before being cut off by the slide of the compartment door.

‘Can we join you?’ A black-haired boy with handsome Middle Eastern features asked politely.

‘Please do.’ Harry said, when Daphne and Tracey looked at him as though it was his decision.

The boy grinned and levitated his trunk into the luggage rack, Tracey watching nervously as it hovered above her head for a moment.

‘Liram Shafiq.’ He introduced himself, ‘And this,’ he continued, gesturing carelessly behind him, ‘is Anthony Goldstein.’

His companion was a couple of inches shorter than him, with dark brown hair and a narrow face. He gave a slightly awkward wave to the three of them before sitting next to Liram on the bench Harry occupied.

‘Daphne Greengrass.’ Daphne introduced herself again, nodding graciously.

‘Tracey Davis.’

‘Harry Flamel.’

Harry forced his expression to remain neutral at the poorly concealed shock on the two boys’ faces.

‘As in Nicholas Flamel?’ Anthony repeated Tracey’s question.

‘As in Nicholas Flamel.’ Harry acknowledged.

‘So…’ Daphne began after a long moment of silence, smirking slightly, ‘you were asking about houses?’

Harry nodded.

‘Yes, do any of you know where you’ll end up?’

‘Slytherin.’ Daphne replied casually, shrugging lightly. ‘Where the Greengrasses have been for centuries.’

‘Ravenclaw.’ Liram told them, before looking at Daphne. ‘For similar reasons.’

‘Well, I won’t be abandoning Daphne.’ Tracey said firmly.

‘And I suspect that Anthony is stuck with me as soon as the hat discovers he’s practically nocturnal because it means fewer people interrupting his reading.’ Liram said, smirking at his friend.

‘How about you?’

Harry met her cool, ice-blue stare calmly.

‘I really have no idea. If I could choose my own house, then the Sorting Hat would seem to be obsolete.’ He paused. ‘It seems a remarkably stupid way of separating us into houses, anyway. It might be advantageous in some respects to split children in groups according to certain, personal characteristics, but surely it also fosters division, enmity, narrows our perspectives…’ Harry had given the matter some considerable thought as he read Hogwarts: A History, and both Nicholas and Perenelle had been only too happy to reinforce his opposition, claiming that Beauxbatons’ house system was infinitely superior.

‘I think the idea is to create the best possible environment for as many students as possible.’ Daphne suggested. ‘To encourage competition with one another, to make us stronger.’

‘It has some merits,’ Harry acknowledged, ‘but surely it simultaneously encourages us to compete over the values and virtues that the house we end up being a part of prizes, to the exclusion of all else. If Hogwarts’ policy is that all of the traits supposedly exemplified by the houses are desirable, then shouldn’t it be encouraging us to develop all of them?’

‘But some people are naturally clever, or brave, or cunning…’ Tracey objected, ‘and some people never will be.’

‘Perhaps. But that doesn’t mean they should be put in a box and not allowed to be anything else, or even shoved, as I suspect they are in some cases, into a box that doesn’t really fit them. Quite apart from that, the Sorting Hat examines some of our memories, our fears and desires at the moment it is placed on our head. It hardly analyses our entire lives, so makes a huge decision based on limited information at a very specific point in time, when we’re likely nervous, stressed… hardly representative of our whole person.’ He shrugged. ‘And we’re only thirteen. Who knows what we might be like in five years time, or even two years time.’ He stopped, feeling he’d gone on long enough, and examined the expressions of those around him.

Tracey and Anthony were frowning at him, clearly thinking about what he’d said. Liram had nodded along with parts of his speech and looked interested. Daphne was examining him with barely veiled curiosity, her eyes boring into his. Harry couldn’t help but feel he was under the gaze of a Legilimens, but felt no brush against his mind.

‘You make good points.’ She acknowledged eventually, as the sound of a whistle blowing penetrated the glass and a few seconds later the train jerked slowly into motion.

Another knock came against the glass panel of the door, before it slid open to reveal a boy who looked southern European, tall and slim, with hard brown eyes.

‘Blaise.’ Daphne greeted, giving the boy a small smile.

‘Greengrass.’ He nodded an acknowledgement, before his gaze swept round the rest of the compartment. ‘Davis. Shafiq.’ He paused. ‘You two I don’t know.’

‘Anthony Goldstein.’

‘Harry Flamel.’

Harry watched with amusement as the boy’s composure broke for a moment at his name, surprise followed quickly by appraisal. Eventually he seemed to realise that he was blocking the corridor, and waved his wand hastily to shove his trunk up on the rack with the others. He sat down next to Tracey, leaning back into the corner.

The compartment’s occupants sat in silence for a while. Harry would have thought it awkward if he wasn’t aware that they were all just being cautious with one another. He knew that the Greengrasses and the Shafiqs were both very prominent pureblood families in wizarding Britain. He didn’t think he recognised either Davis or Goldstein’s names, but he knew that there were Zabinis in Italy who were supposed to be well connected and outrageously wealthy. He couldn’t have chosen his travelling companions better, he thought, satisfied, if he wanted to make powerful allies.

‘Why aren’t you going to Beauxbatons?’

Harry turned to look inquiringly at Anthony, who flushed under the scrutiny, and looked as though he wished he hadn’t spoken.

‘Well…’ he continued nervously, ‘the Flamels are French.’ He pointed out. ‘It’s said that Nicholas Flamel himself went to Beauxbatons.’

Harry smiled. ‘Half right. My father indeed attended Beauxbatons in his youth,’ he stopped, grinning at the look of shock on Anthony’s face; it had only been the two girls there when he had claimed the alchemist himself as his father, ‘but he does not consider himself French. He was born in Bordeaux, in Aquitaine, when the region was subject to the English crown. He was a member of the nobility, and grew up speaking Anglo-Norman. He has lived most of his life on British or neutral territory, and uses English as his main language. My mother, I admit, is French.’ He continued, as though making some great confession. ‘A proud daughter of the old blood of Occitania, but even she speaks English most of the time at home.’

Goldstein looked awed. ‘You grew up with Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel?’

‘I did.’ Harry said, amused.

‘Where?’

Harry frowned slightly at the boy’s rudeness.

‘Somewhere Unplottable.’ He replied, and watched with satisfaction as the boy flinched slightly at the subtle rebuke.

‘So, what magic can you guys do?’ Tracey asked cheerfully into the suddenly uncomfortable silence.

‘Umm, I’ve practised most of the first year charms.’ Anthony began nervously, still glancing at Harry. ‘And my brother’s been teaching me bits from Transfiguration.’

‘Why don’t you show us?’ Blaise drawled casually from his corner, dark eyes gleaming.

Anthony looked cornered. Liram was frowning slightly, probably wanting to intervene to protect his friend, but unsure of how to do so without making the situation worse. Eventually, Anthony drew his wand from an inside pocket of the robe he was wearing, before looking round for an object to change.

‘Here.’ Harry said, pulling a bright green apple from his own robe, wanting to extend the hand of peace, and knowing that fresh fruits, simple objects still brimming with life and energy, were amongst the easiest things to transfigure.

Anthony took it gratefully, turning it over in one hand for a while and frowning.

‘You should probably hurry up,’ Blaise began sardonically, ‘unless of course your transfiguration is just waiting to let it rot into something else.’

Harry bit his lip to keep from smiling at the remark. The others seemed equally torn between amusement and condemnation.

Eventually, however, Anthony stabbed his wand forwards in a short, chopping gesture, muttering something under his breath. Harry almost rolled his eyes at the clumsiness, but watched as the apple seemed to melt in the boys grip, shrinking and lengthening and lightening.

‘Not bad.’ Blaise acknowledged, grabbing the banana and peeling it. ‘Still tastes a bit of apple, though.’ He remarked, taking a bite.

Harry could almost hear Goldstein swallow with relief.

‘I’ve been practising my charms too.’ Tracey interjected, apparently taking pity on the boy. ‘And my mother sells herbs to the apothecaries and potions shops in Diagon Alley, so I know quite a lot about those.’

Blaise snorted.

‘Growing herbs.’ He repeated scornfully. ‘That’s not magic.’

Tracey rounded on him, glaring, but before she could open her mouth Daphne spoke up.

‘How was it your family made its money in Italy, Blaise?’ She asked sweetly, though her expression was frosty. ‘Shellfish, originally, I thought.’ She paused. ‘Not even magical shellfish. Just the ones we cook for dinner. Tracey’s herbs could save my life. Could save your life. Your shellfish? Why, all they’re going to give me is a light supper.’

Harry allowed himself to smile a little, enjoying the exchange.

Blaise frowned slightly, but brushed off her words.

‘My mother hasn’t been in contact with the Italian Zabinis since she was a child.’

‘Too busy murdering her husbands to drop in to family dinner.’ Tracey said. ‘Probably a relief for them: it must be terribly difficult for the relatives to remember the name of the latest model.’

Ouch, Harry thought, noticing Blaise’s jaw clench, that was low.

‘My mother is a witch with more power in her wand arm than is possessed by your entire family, Davis.’ He bit out.

The girl smirked.

‘I can believe that. Give a man a handjob and he’ll do whatever you want.’

Blaise seemed to have recovered.

‘Hardly, Davis. I wouldn’t even get out of bed for a handjob from you.’

Her eyes widened innocently.

‘But if we do it in your bed then we might get your nice sheets sticky.’

‘Let’s leave it there.’ Liram said, interrupting. Harry wanted to frown at him; he’d been enjoying himself. ‘My mother has been teaching me how to duel.’

‘Your mother, Shafiq?’ Blaise said scornfully, apparently as irritated as Harry by the cutting in.

‘My mother.’ The boy confirmed. ‘Yours keeps her weapons in her underwear, mine in her wand holster.’

‘Your mother is a War Witch, isn’t she?’ Daphne asked.

Liram nodded, and Harry looked at him interestedly. True War Witches had origins that went back to ancient Persia. They’d formed the personal guard of the Kings of Kings, had struck terror into the hearts of their enemies on the battlefield. Even now their descendants were trained in secret ways in the deep desert, spending years undergoing barely imaginable trials that moulded their members into the envy of auror corps the world over. Even Blaise seemed somewhat impressed by the knowledge.

‘How about you, Harry?’

‘Me, Daphne?’

She nodded.

‘You must know lots of magic with parents like yours.’

‘Alchemy.’ Tracey whispered, eyes wide.

Harry shook his head.

‘I’m afraid that’s more my father’s area of expertise. I doubt I could turn water into ice with alchemy, let alone lead into gold.’

‘So what can you do?’ Tracey demanded, disappointed.

‘Well,’ he began, ‘like Liram, I have had some training in duelling, and my father has taught me the basics of potion making.’ He paused. ‘My mother has also been teaching me some simple Blood Magic.’

Even Daphne looked a little shocked.

‘Blood Magic?’ Tracey asked nervously, ‘But isn’t that, like, really Dark?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with Dark Magic.’ Daphne reprimanded her firmly. ‘Even some Blood Magic can be very useful. But it’s supposed to be incredibly complicated…’ she continued, looking at Harry with a frown.

‘It is.’ He agreed immediately. ‘But my mother’s a really good teacher, and knows exactly what she’s doing.’

‘Can you show us something?’ Blaise didn’t seem to be baiting him like he had been Anthony. His eyes were gleaming with interest as he stared at him intently.

Harry shook his head.

‘No. I’m not very good at the moment,’ he acknowledged, ‘and it’s really dangerous. Besides, mother would have my head if she found out I’d been showing off to people I’d just met.’ He felt a guilty jolt every time he referred to Nicholas and Perenelle as his parents.

‘Afraid of your mother, Flamel?’ Daphne asked, apparently quite recovered from her surprise.

Harry laughed.

‘I don’t think anyone who has ever met Perenelle Flamel has failed to be at least a little bit scared of her.’ He replied, before redirecting the conversation, ‘But I can show you something else.’ He offered, reaching into the pocket of his robe again.

‘Is that a seed?’ Tracey asked curiously as she looked into Harry’s outstretched hand. Even Blaise had leaned in a little to get a better view.

‘Yeah.’ Harry agreed, before flicking his ash wand into his hand. He noticed Liram noting the auror-spec wand holster he knew must be hidden by his sleeve.

Harry touched the tip of his wand carefully to the seed in the palm of his left hand, and watched with satisfaction at the impressed expressions surrounding him as it grew, swelling and brightening until he was left with a single, perfect apple, identical to the one he had handed to Anthony.

‘How did you do that?’ Daphne asked curiously, examining the apple minutely for flaws. He handed it to her, smiling, before he replied.

‘Try it. I promise you,’ he grinned, ‘it will taste even more like an apple than Anthony’s banana.’

She bit into the fruit cautiously, before nodding.

‘Was that transfiguration, or some weird Herbology spell, or what?’ Tracey asked.

‘It can’t have been conjuration.’ Anthony said. ‘The first Principal Exception to Gamp’s Law is food.’

‘It is.’ Harry agreed. ‘It was transfiguration, though not conjuration. The seed was an apple pip; containing all the latent potential to turn itself into an apple tree. I simply sped up the process and got rid of the tree to leave me with a complete apple.’

‘That is not simple.’ Liram disagreed immediately. ‘Something like that is really advanced.’

The others nodded.

‘Thank you.’ Harry looked at Blaise and tilted his head curiously, ‘So, what can you do, Mr Zabini?’

He watched the boy’s expression carefully, and knew that he had been right in suspecting Blaise had wanted his question turned round on him when he saw the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

The boy pulled out his wand wordlessly before pointing it at a nervous looking Anthony.

‘Don’t worry.’ He said, before smiling grimly, and flicking his wand upwards.

‘Levicorpus!’

Anthony yelped as he was jerked up into the air, dangling upside down as though suspended by his right ankle. His robes dangled down around his face, and his trousers crumpled up to above his knees, revealing pale, skinny legs.

‘Do you want to let him down now, Blaise?’ Liram asked, apparently calmly, though Harry could read the tension in his shoulders.

Before Blaise could do anything, Harry had lifted his hand, reaching out in a grasping motion. Even Blaise watched, slightly awed, as Harry wandlessly flipped Anthony the right way up and floated him gently back to the floor.

’T-thanks.’ The boy mumbled gratefully, having been the only one too distracted to focus on what Harry was doing.

‘How did you do that?’ Tracey demanded, echoing her friend’s question from earlier.

‘Do what?’

‘Wandless Magic.’ Daphne deadpanned.

Harry shrugged.

‘I’m not really sure. I accidentally started summoning things without a wand a couple of years ago, and kind of tried to train it from there…’ He trailed off, trying not to be pinned down.

Daphne eyed him suspiciously, Blaise with what looked almost like a glare at Harry having stolen his glory. The others looked genuinely amazed.

‘Can I stroke your cat?’ Tracey asked.

Harry watched with amusement as Adonis stretched backwards in his lap, opening one golden eye to stare at Tracey, upside down, before looking back up at Harry and mewing softly.

‘I think he’ll let you hold him.’ Harry said, scooping him up and moving over to place him carefully in Tracey’s lap. ‘Just don’t muss his fur.’ He warned.

‘What’s he called?’ Daphne asked, watching her friend gently scratch the pleased animal behind the ears.

‘Adonis.’ He replied, smirking. ‘You will never meet another creature as vain as he is.’ The cat in question tilted his head back again to narrow its eyes at him.

-

‘Are we sure these are safe?’ Daphne asked doubtfully, looking down at one of the tiny boats wobbling uncertainly against its moorings.

‘These boats were enchanted by Albus Dumbledore ‘imself!’ The enormous, bearded man who’d led the first years from the station platform had apparently heard her. ‘Yer’d be more in danger of drowning standing in the middle of a field.’

‘I think I’d rather take the field.’ Daphne muttered as she took Harry’s hand, and allowed him to support her as she stepped down into the boat.

‘Mr Flamel!’

She looked up from settling herself on the narrow wooden bench at her friend’s giggled exclamation, and watched as Harry lifted Tracey by the waist and, in an impressive display of strength, lowered her into the boat next to her. Daphne quickly pulled the blushing girl down beside her, trying to mask her nerves at the rocking of the vessel.

‘You guys take Blaise, I’ll find another boat with Anthony.’

Harry nodded gratefully at Liram having let them avoid any awkwardness over the boats, which seated only four, and sat down in the front as Blaise stepped smoothly on board.

‘Forwards!’ The man, who Harry thought had introduced himself as Hagrid, shouted, waving his lamp in the air. And suddenly they were moving, the tiny boats rock steady as they pushed through the dark water.

Harry just about managed to restrain himself from releasing a gasp like some of his yearmates as Hogwarts itself eventually came into view, but couldn’t deny it was an impressive sight. The castle rose from a bluff that speared up out of the lake, its tall towers silhouetted by the dusk against the surrounding mountains. A thousand distant windows glittered with welcoming candlelight, and Harry could almost sense the ancient magic rolling across the still water.

A curtain of ivy concealed the entrance to an underground dock, against which the twenty or so boats carrying the new students automatically lined themselves.

‘Everyone out and follow me!’ The enormous man called, almost overturning his own boat as he stepped heavily onto the wharf. He led them up a long flight of steps cut into the rock beneath the castle, and Harry noticed that more than a few of his yearmates were panting heavily by the time they arrived outside a pair of doors that dwarfed even their guide. They swung open silently at his knock, and revealed a severe looking witch standing waiting for them. Her dark hair had long since started to grey, and she must have been nearly six feet tall even without the tall, pointed hat she was wearing,

‘Thank you, Hagrid. First years follow me.’ She instructed, her sharp voice softened only a little by its Scottish burr, before turning and sweeping off down the brightly lit stone corridor. Harry and his new friends stayed at the back of the group as they traipsed through the castle, arriving eventually in a high-ceilinged room whose walls were filled with portraits.

‘Wait here, and behave yourselves.’ The witch told them, and Harry noticed her gaze fix upon a few faces in the crowd. She left them, opening a door from the other side of which could be heard the cacophony of hundreds of voices, before she pulled it firmly shut behind her.

‘Well, she seemed cheerful.’ Liram said, he and Anthony having rejoined the four of them as soon as they’d got out of the boats.

‘That must be Professor McGonagall.’ Anthony said thoughtfully. ‘I think she teaches Transfiguration.’

Harry could sense the nervousness of the other new students around him, however much they tried to hide it. Behind Blaise and Daphne’s facades hovered a hint of uncertainty. Liram’s smile seemed a little strained. Even Tracey had lost some of her ebullience, and Anthony was staring silently at the floor. A few feet away from their group, Harry could see a chubby, round-faced boy who looked as though he was about to be sick. A short girl with a great mane of brown hair was standing at his elbow, whispering frantically.

‘Greengrass. Zabini. Shafiq.’

Harry focused his attention on the skinny blond boy who’d come over the join them, closely followed by a pair of walking boulders.

‘Malfoy.’ Daphne replied, inclining her head slightly.

The boy in question’s eyes flitted over Tracey and Anthony with little interest before alighting on Harry, examining robes that were clearly too fine to belong to a scholarship, or even middle-class, student. Harry saw them narrow at the sight of the gold ring on his finger, winking in the light, and in the position it would be worn by the heir of a family significant enough to merit such adornment.

‘I’m not sure I recognise you, Mr?’ He asked politely, extending a hand confidently.

‘Flamel. Harry Flamel.’ Harry replied, lips quirking with amusement at the now expected response as he took the boy’s hand and gave it a firm shake.

‘Flamel.’ The boy repeated curiously, turning the name over, clearly recognising it, but just as apparently unsure what to do with the information.

‘Was there anything you wanted to talk about, Malfoy?’ Daphne interjected sweetly.

‘No, no. I merely wanted to greet you, and introduce myself.’

He beat a graceful retreat, boulders rumbling slowly after him as he rejoined the group he’d come over from.

‘First years.’

They all looked up at the tall professor, who’d reappeared from nowhere.

‘You are about to be sorted.’ She announced. ‘You will follow me into the Great Hall, at which point your names will be called alphabetically, and you will come to the front and put the Sorting Hat on your head, which will select a house for you. Your house will be your family for your time at Hogwarts. You will contribute to and share in its successes, as well as its defeats. I expect and demand that you all become upstanding members of the school community. Hogwarts is one of the most prestigious institutions in the magical world, and you should never forget how fortunate you are to have your place here.’ She paused. ‘Work hard, learn well, and the world is yours.’

I think it will take a bit more than that, Harry thought to himself.

-

Professor McGonagall led them back the way they’d come, before turning off and taking them into the castle’s enormous entrance hall. They all looked up instinctively, mesmerised by the slow, grinding movement of the myriad staircases floating above them.

McGonagall didn’t give them much of a chance to look round, striding towards a great set of double doors, which she set to swinging open with a flick of her wand. The Great Hall was even more impressive. Four long, gleaming tables set with gilded cutlery and goblets stretched out in front of them, stopping just before a stone dais where a fifth table stood, facing the hall. What must have been many thousands of candles hovered a few feet above the tables, filling the vast room with a soft glow. An enchanted vision of the clear night sky twinkled high above them as they made their way down the central aisle, surrounded by the murmurs of the older students.

McGonagall managed to bring silence to the hall by doing nothing more than mounting the steps of the dais.

‘Let the sorting begin.’ She declared without preamble, turning to an old, leather wizard’s hat sitting on a chair.

‘Ah, new firsties…’

If Harry hadn’t been expecting it, the sight of the front of the hat suddenly contorting itself into the approximation of a face might have occasioned some surprise. As it was, only a few of the students standing in front of the hat jumped when it began to speak in a deep gravelly voice.

A few long seconds of silence followed, before the hat once more opened its fold of a mouth and began to sing.

They call me the Sorting Hat,  
And I suppose that’s what I do.  
Stick one child here, another there,  
And Gryffindor, they’ll take two.  
It’s a sad existence, really,  
But it’s brought me lasting fame;  
There’s not a witch nor wizard in Britain  
Who doesn’t know my name.  
So trust me, young ones, really,  
I know what I’m about:  
A thousand years of practice  
Leaves little room for doubt.  
Welcome to Hogwarts!  
With its halls as old as time,  
And some teachers not far off;  
Though only I can rhyme.  
I must, however, warn you,  
That within these ancient walls,  
I cannot guarantee your safety;  
For a lurking danger calls.  
Amidst the classrooms, halls and grounds,  
Beneath the tables and flitting in the eaves,  
Hide dragons, pixies, a man named Snape,  
Demons, and a poltergeist called Peeves.  
Trust your friends and instincts, children,  
Though things may not be as they seem.  
Live each day as your last and dance til dawn,  
So that, as a wrinkly, you’ll have a pleasant dream.  
So now, come sit yourselves beneath me,  
And let me take a look inside your head,  
I’ll say hello and work out where to put you,  
Don’t worry; I’ll tell you where to find your bed.

The new first years joined in the rest of the school’s applause after a few moments of surprise.

‘Now we begin.’ Professor McGonagall declared, magicking a parchment list into the air beside her.

‘Abbot, Hannah.’

A sweet-faced girl with long, blonde curls stumbled forwards and took her place on the plain chair that sat in front of the head table, facing the main body of the hall. Her small, pink shoe-clad feet dangled a couple of inches above the ground.

‘Hufflepuff!’

The table furthest to the left broke into a round of applause, as Hannah stood up hastily and hurried over to join her new housemates.

The Sorting Hat worked quickly, in most instances only taking five or six seconds to make its decision and roar it to the hall.

Harry readied himself as Finnigan, Seamus was pulled forwards.

‘Gryffindor!’ The hat called almost as soon as it touched the boy’s head.

‘Flamel, Harry.’

At Harry’s name the hall broke out into a storm of mutterings, and although he didn’t look back he could imagine everyone craning their heads to get a better look at him.

‘Did she say…’

‘Flamel…’

‘As in Nicholas…’

He heard snatches of conversation as he stepped up smoothly, mounting the steps. He caught the ancient-looking Professor Dumbledore leaning forwards in his golden throne, wearing an intent expression. He turned, and lifted the hat onto his head. He had a second to contemplate the hundreds of faces staring at him before he was distracted by a voice in the back of his skull.

‘Hello, young man.’

‘Hi.’ He thought back.

‘Hmm, your Occlumency is remarkably well developed for one of your age.’ The hat said after a moment. ‘There are parts of you that even I would struggle to access.’

‘They’re not important.’

‘I very much doubt that, but I will not press you.’

The hat remained silent for a while.

‘So, you think the house system flawed?’ It asked, sounding curious.

‘Fundamentally.’

‘But without it I would be unemployed…’ The hat pointed out drily.

‘Without it you wouldn’t have to trawl through the heads of naive little schoolchildren. You could focus on your poetry; clearly your true vocation.’

‘I wouldn’t have an audience for my poetry though…’ The hat rejoindered, before continuing before he could reply. ‘Naive little schoolchildren, eh. I take it you do not consider yourself one of their number?’

‘Most children are convinced they’re special.’ Harry told him. ‘I actually am.’

The hat chuckled.

‘I have seen many rise to greatness in my time.’ The hat replied. ‘But most paddle for a bit and then sink without a trace. Although, I suppose you already have a claim to greatness, Mr Potter.’

Harry clenched his jaw and tried to strengthen his shields as the hat chuckled again.

‘It’s a little late for that now, don’t you think? Futile, anyway, for such a burning secret could hardly escape the notice of one such as myself.’

‘You will keep my secret?’

‘Naturally. Who would I tell? Dumbledore already knows, and it will amuse me to see how long you can maintain such a paltry disguise. A boy called Harry the same age as the Boy Who Lived would be, suddenly appearing at Hogwarts as the son of famous parents who are centuries old but have never had a child?’

‘The disguise is only supposed to be temporary.’ Harry told the hat. ‘As you well know. Plenty of people will suspect, but as long as none of them know then they will hardly take the risk of pissing off the Flamels to get to me.’

‘And who, I wonder, would want to get to you?’

Harry didn’t particularly want to discuss the matter, but his thoughts gave him away.

‘Death eaters? Fame seekers? Bellatrix Lestrange? Sirius Black?’ The hat repeated to him. ‘Hmm, perhaps. Curious children, those two. I was most interested to hear where they ended up.’

‘Would you mind sorting me?’ Harry asked.

‘Of course.’ The hat answered, voice laced with amusement. ‘You seem to have decided where you want to go, and I see no reason to object, although might I suggest…’

‘No.’ Harry said firmly. ‘I have made my decision, flawed though all of the options are, and if you have no objections then I would appreciate your assistance.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever had a child “appreciate my assistance” before.’ The hat said, apparently still amused. ‘But, if you must have your way… Ravenclaw!’

The table immediately to the right of the centre erupted with cheers, though Harry couldn’t tell whether it was because they’d got him, or because they were hungry and his lengthy sorting was finally over.

He went over to join them, noticing the facings of his robes dye themselves blue and bronze, the Ravenclaw crest of an eagle in flight clutching some kind of crown in its talons embroidering itself onto his tie. He quietly introduced himself to Terry Boot, Michael Corner, and a blushing Mandy Brocklehurst as the sorting continued.

Ravenclaw ended up taking seventeen new students; eight male and nine female. Harry didn’t bother to repress his grin when Liram shoved his way onto the bench next to him, sitting between him and Anthony. To his other side he was flanked by a pretty girl called Padma Patil, and a boy called Oliver Rivers sat opposite.

Daphne, Tracey and Blaise had quickly been sorted into Slytherin, and he flashed a smile at Daphne when she glanced at him, which she responded to with a small twitch of her lips.

‘Welcome, students, new and old!’ The headmaster exclaimed, his voice effortlessly rising above and silencing the conversations that had broken out with the end of the sorting.

Harry examined the man who had left him with his adopted parents. Albus Dumbledore cut an impressive figure; tall and straight-backed, with a gleaming white beard stretching to his waist and draped in magnificently embroidered robes.

‘I will be brief, for I know I am hungry, and suspect that you all are too. It does my old heart glad to see so many eager young faces. I hope that you all had wonderful summers, and return to us ready and eager to learn. I have some notices to give out, but I’m sure those will wait until after the meal.’ He smiled gently at the hall, blue eyes sparkling merrily behind half-moon glasses. He spread his arms wide as he sat down, and suddenly the tables were heaving under the weight of dishes filled with mouthwatering looking food.

Harry looked at the dishes briefly, before deciding to temporarily abandon his normal healthy-eating practices. He quickly helped himself to rare beef and roast potatoes, vegetables glazed with honey and horseradish sauce.

‘So, Flamel…’

Harry rolled his eyes before swallowing his mouthful and plastering a smile onto his face as he turned to the handsome third year boy who’d spoken to him from further down the table.

-

‘And now that most of us have finished, a few notices.’ Dumbledore announced, rising from his chair and licking his spoon.

Harry, who had been debating a second slice of treacle tart, refocused his attention.

‘Professor Flitwick has asked me to remind you all that his duelling club will be running as usual this year here in the Great Hall; a novice class for first to third year on Tuesdays after school has finished, and an Advanced Class for fourth to sixth at the same time on Thursdays. Madame Hooch has notified me that schedules for Quidditch tryouts will be posted to the notice boards in your common rooms by the end of the week. Schedules for other extra-curricular clubs and activities will be found in the same place.

Professor McGonagall has requested that I remind you all that magic is not permitted in the corridors between classes, and Mr Filch that a comprehensive list of the school’s banned objects can be found outside the door to his office.’

Dumbledore had rattled through the notices quickly and cheerfully, but suddenly his expression became solemn as he paused.

‘Finally, and most seriously, there is another matter. I am sure that it has escaped few of your attentions that the criminals Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange escaped from the prison of Azkaban during the summer. As such, until the two are recaptured, the Ministry has seen fit’, here Harry noticed Dumbledore’s tone become stiff, almost disapproving, ‘to take additional security precautions with all of the country’s schools. Hogwarts will thus be playing host to a squad of aurors from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and to a number of dementors, which will be patrolling the perimeter of the grounds.’

Harry stiffened at the mention of the dementors, noting that Dumbledore’s tone had hardened further, sounding almost angry.

‘I should warn you all, and warn you well; it is not in the nature of a dementor to feel restraint, or to distinguish between friend and foe. I must thus instruct you all to keep well away from the edge of the school’s wards.’

He paused, allowing his words to sink in.

‘Sleep well.’ He said, before reseating himself.


	3. Breakfast with a Strange Old Man

‘Dementors at Hogwarts.’ Liram said as they left the hall, shaking his head. ‘My father won’t be pleased when he hears about this.’

‘He has influence at the Ministry?’ Harry asked curiously, walking next to him as they followed a female prefect up the stairs.

‘He has money, which is as good as.’ Liram told him, smiling slightly. ‘Though, unlike Malfoy, he doesn’t often use it to buy political favours.’

Harry nodded thoughtfully as they left the main set of staircases and walked along a couple of corridors before beginning up a lengthy spiral of steps.

‘This is Ravenclaw Tower.’ Announced the girl leading them, glancing back. ‘Professor Flitwick’s chambers are at the bottom of the staircase; the door to the left as you come down. He’s available at all times should you need him; but please don’t disturb him late at night or early in the morning unless it’s an emergency.’

After climbing several dozen steps they arrived at a heavy, arched door. It had neither handle nor keyhole, only a bronze eagle-shaped knocker. The prefect knocked firmly, and the eagle opened its beak.

‘Measure my life in minutes or hours, I serve you by dying. Quick when thin, slow when fat. Breath brings me naught but death.’

The girl turned back towards them, pale skin and dark eyes gleaming as she scanned the first years crowded in the stairwell.

‘Does anyone have a guess?’

Harry glanced behind him, grinning as he saw most of his housemates frowning, a few even muttering the words of the riddle under their breaths to themselves.

‘A candle.’

‘Well done.’ The prefect nodded approvingly at Liram as the door swung open, ushering them after her.

The Ravenclaw common was beautiful. It was a wide, airy, circular space, its vaulted ceiling arching high overhead and painted a dramatic dark blue, scattered with slowly drifting golden stars. The stone walls were lined with gilt-framed paintings, the tall arched windows were flanked by heavy blue and bronze curtains and set above comfortable looking window seats. Graceful chandeliers filled with pale wax candles illuminated the space, their light absorbed by the thick cream carpet. Great bookshelves filled with tomes occupied alcoves in the walls, and elegant furniture littered the floor. A crackling fire burned cheerfully in a spotless grate on the far side of the room.

‘This is the centre of Ravenclaw house.’ The girl, who Harry thought had introduced herself as Roberta Hilliard, began. ‘Here we study and socialise.’ She led them over to a pair of archways, between which stood a pale marble statue of a beautiful woman, expression serene and wand raised. ‘Boys to the right, girls to the left.’ She said. ‘Your rooms will be off the first landing; you go up the levels as you move up the school. If you have any problems, then come downstairs and, if there aren’t any prefects in the common room, speak to the statue of Rowena,’ here she indicated the woman in marble, ‘and she will let one of us know in our dorms.’ She paused, clearly trying to remember whether she’d left anything out. ‘The house elves will have brought your luggage to the landings, but you’ll have to take it into the rooms yourselves as you decide who’s dorming with who. I think that’s everything for now, but be down and showered by eight o’clock tomorrow, when a prefect will escort you down to breakfast and sort you out with maps and your class schedules. Otherwise, good night.’ She smiled briefly at them before hurrying up the left hand staircase, presumably seeking out her own bed.

‘Shall we?’ Liram asked, tilting his head.

Harry followed him, the other boys trailing after them. The landing they reached was a narrow stone lobby with a torch in a bracket, a small blue rug and a slim window at the far and. A single door stood on either side. Their combined luggage filled most of the space.

‘I assume there are four beds in each.’ Liram said, opening one of the doors. ‘Who’s taking this one with me?’

Harry gave him a small grin and stepped forwards, flicking his want to levitate his cases. Anthony followed after him a little nervously.

‘I’ll come.’ Oliver Rivers, a tanned boy with long copper hair grinned and grabbed his trunk.

‘Well, it looks like we’re in this one, then.’ Terry Boot, short with black hair, said cheerfully, going over to the other door.

The chamber Harry entered was circular and surprisingly large, with four blue and bronze draped four-poster beds set against the wall, three large windows and a deep, dark blue rug with an eagle emblazoned on it in the middle of the floor. A door off to one side led to what Harry assumed was a bathroom. Harry took the bed furthest from the door, between two of the windows, with Oliver between him and the entrance to the bathroom, and Liram and then Anthony on the other side.

-

Harry had quickly discovered that he no longer needed an alarm to rise with the dawn, for as soon as its first rays came through the windows of his bedroom at the Flamels’ estate Adonis could be relied upon to jump onto his stomach, demanding food and attention. It seemed to be a precedent that would continue at Hogwarts, for Harry opened his eyes wincing as Adonis massaged his claws gently against his naked chest.

‘Calm down.’ He murmured, gently lifting the paws up. He slipped out of a bed that had proved almost as comfortable as his own, and settled Adonis down in the pool of warmth he’d left behind. He fetched a silver saucer of milk and a fillet of salmon from a box in one of his trunks which Perenelle had put under heavy stasis charms. He knew he had enough food to last Adonis at least a fortnight, which should give him time to sort out whatever arrangements Hogwarts had for feeding familiars. He wasn’t sure how enthusiastically his fussy cat would take to consuming the mice and rats that no doubt lurked around the cellars and dungeons; he would eagerly hunt them, no doubt, but consuming them was another matter.

‘Harry?’

He glanced up from tending to Adonis, and saw that Liram had stuck his head out through the curtains of his bed. He couldn’t help but notice how handsome the other boy was, hair tousled, tanned skin gleaming in the morning light and long lashes blinking away the sleep from dark blue eyes.

‘Go back to sleep.’ He told him. ‘I’m just feeding Adonis and going for a run.’

‘A run?’ The other boy exclaimed, barely keeping to a whisper, and glancing at the happily purring cat.

‘Yes.’ Harry agreed, rolling his shoulders and grabbing a pair of muggle jogging bottoms. Liram watched curiously as he slipped them over his underwear and strapped his wand to his forearm before he put on a long sleeved t-shirt. Harry looked at him as he waved a hand to summon a pair of neon blue and silver running shoes. ‘Fancy joining me?’

‘Maybe another day.’ Liram replied. ‘I need at least another hour’s sleep.’ He said, before shaking his head at Harry’s antics and retreating back into the warmth of his bed.

Harry smiled slightly to himself, before walking over to the door and going down the steps to the common room, Adonis trailing after him curiously. He paused by the entrance for a moment, before walking over to one of the great windows, kneeling on the cushioned seat below it as he looked out at the spectacular view of the grounds it afforded. The common room was empty at such an early hour, and so he spent a few minutes going round the windows, admiring the view whilst memorising the layout of the school and its surroundings sprawled below him. He could see the lake, its waters still and gleaming like silver, the tall wooden stands surrounding the Quidditch pitch, the great spread of the Forbidden Forest and the oversized hut that he assumed was where the groundskeeper lived. The castle’s courtyards and towers were grey and empty, but he could see the early sunlight glittering in the glass roofs of a series of long greenhouses.

He jogged down the steps to the bottom of Ravenclaw Tower, heading for the main staircase, and took deep, invigorating breaths of the cold morning air as he slipped out through the castle’s doors. He took a moment to cast a spell on his shoes that would prevent them from sinking into the soft, slightly damp ground before setting off at a steady pace in the direction of the lake.

-

I wonder what he wants. Harry thought curiously, breathing steadily as he kicked back up the steep path towards the school forty minutes later.

‘Harry.’ Albus Dumbledore greeted warmly, smiling at him softly from the top of the steps leading to the castle’s entrance as Harry caught his breath and stretched his muscles at the bottom. He’d practised at the estate, but he still wasn’t quite comfortable exercising in his new body, which he didn’t feel looked like it was up the rigours of his training.

‘Professor.’ He replied, nodding his head politely as soon as he had his breath back.

‘The school told me you’d left her embrace very early this morning.’ The headmaster said cheerfully. ‘It’s most gratifying to see there are students who can manage to get up as early as I do.’

Harry wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, but luckily Professor Dumbledore pressed on.

‘I thought I would come down to see what you were up to, and invite you to join me for breakfast in my office.’

Harry couldn’t hold back a flicker of surprise from his expression.

‘I know you’ll likely want to eat with your new friends this morning, but I hope you don’t mind doing an old man a favour.’ The headmaster told him. ‘I will make sure that you get your map of the school, although you seem to be finding your way around perfectly well by yourself, and I will have Fawkes collect your class schedule from Professor Flitwick.’

‘Certainly, Professor.’ Harry agreed, gathering himself, although he had no idea who or what Fawkes was. ‘Would you permit me twenty minutes to shower and change?’

‘Of course, of course. I will have Fawkes come and guide you to my office. The password is Toxic Waste.’

‘Toxic Waste?’ Harry repeated dubiously.

Dumbledore nodded.

‘Just so. The name of a type of muggle sherbet. I do so love lemon sherbets, but I fear I find their acidity somewhat lacking nowadays, and have had to seek out a stronger drug to sate my addiction.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Harry replied politely.

-

The sudden appearance of a bright red and gold bird whose form was licked by flame in the Ravenclaw boys’ dormitory was something of a shock, and Harry felt slightly vulnerable standing, damp, and with only a towel around his waist as the beady black eyes examined him.

‘I guess you’re Fawkes, then.’ He said, and the phoenix nodded its head regally, perched neatly on the back of a chair.

He quickly pulled on his school robes, before turning back to Dumbledore’s familiar.

‘I’m ready.’

The bird nodded and tilted its head towards the door to the lobby.

Fawkes reappeared in a soft whoosh of fire when he reached the bottom of Ravenclaw tower, and glided from perch to perch ahead of him as he walked through the school. The phoenix led him to an alcove on the seventh floor, in which a fantastically ugly gargoyle crouched. Harry blinked when the magnificent bird disappeared.

‘Umm, Toxic Waste?’ He said uncertainly.

The gargoyle began to turn in place, and from underneath its feet rose a twisting staircase. Harry stepped on hastily and rode it all the way up until it stopped in front of a gleaming door, bearing only a brass knocker wrought in the shape of a phoenix. Harry knocked twice and waited.

‘Do come in, Harry.’ The old man called, and Harry pushed the door open to step into a large and beautiful circular room. A great desk stacked with parchments stood on a dais on its far side, in front of a pair of staircases that twisted up to a second floor. The walls were ringed by dark wood bookshelves and delicate tables scattered about the room bore clusters of tiny silver and glass instruments that whirred and ticked and fluttered, emitting whistles and small puffs of multicoloured smoke. Dozens of pictures of previous headmasters and headmistresses filled the walls above the shelves, their occupants all dozing quietly in their frames.

In the centre of the room stood Dumbledore, ancient and kindly, garbed in layers of brown and gold velvet. Next to him was a breakfast table laid with a white cloth, cutlery, and a steaming selection of delicious looking food.

‘Welcome!’ He said, smiling genially. ‘Please, take a seat and help yourself.’

Harry did as ordered, settling himself on a chair that was considerably more comfortable than the benches in the Great Hall.

‘Sir…’ Harry began tentatively, after avoiding the unhealthiest looking foods and starting on a plate of fruit salad and a bowl of cereal. ‘Can I ask why I’m here?’

The old man finished a mouthful of the scrambled eggs he’d, for some strange reason, covered in maple syrup.

‘Of course, Harry.’ He agreed. ‘I have a few matters I would like to discuss with you, and thought they were best dealt with in private.’

Harry nodded politely and wait for him to continue, pouring himself a glass of orange juice.

‘Firstly, I should let you know that only myself, and the four heads of house, Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout and Snape are aware of your true identity. I do not, personally, necessarily think it wise for you to conceal yourself, but respect your decision, and trust that Nicholas and Perenelle have given you their best advice and guidance.’

‘Thank you, sir, they have.’ Harry said politely, somewhat relieved that Dumbledore appeared happy for him to remain Harry Flamel. He knew Nicholas had owled the headmaster about the matter, but hearing him say in person that he was willing to go along with it, and restrict the information to the school’s most senior teachers, was helpful.

‘Secondly, I would like to tell you about a prophecy.’

Harry clenched his jaw, raising an eyebrow at the old man, who was eyeing him as though suffering from an obscure kind of pain.

‘A prophecy that suggests I will be the one to kill Voldemort?’

It gave Harry no small amount of pleasure to see the expression of genuine surprise run across the headmaster’s face. He lowered his head in agreement after a few long moments.

‘You have guessed of its existence?’

Harry shrugged.

‘I have suspected for a couple of years now, and talking to Nicholas and Perenelle about it had made me almost certain. It just didn’t really make sense for you to go to such pains to hide me if there weren’t some larger threat to me out there than the scattered followers of a dead Dark Lord. I might be a target of their hatred but, until recently, at least, the most dangerous of their number were locked up in Azkaban, and taking revenge for a dead man makes little sense when it would likely condemn yourself for life.’

‘Perhaps.’ Dumbledore replied, nodding slowly. ‘Although I feel you underestimate the loyalty and devotion Voldemort inspired in his followers.’ His gaze sharpened. ‘Tell me, Harry, do you believe Voldemort to be truly dead?’

‘No.’ Harry said simply. ‘I do not believe that whatever prophecy you have heard has been fulfilled. Of all people, Nicholas Flamel knows how many ways there are to cheat death, and it seems inconceivable that the set of robes and the wand that were reportedly all that was left of Voldemort the night he killed my parents actually indicate that he died. The Killing Curse does not vanish its victims.’

‘Indeed it does not.’ Dumbledore said heavily, before he cleared his throat and began to recite.

‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born beneath a falling star as a red dawn breaks… Born to live, to those destined to die… And the Dark Lord will hunt for his rival… And forfeit the battle in exchange for the war.’

Harry shivered slightly, at both the words and Dumbledore’s solemn delivery. He didn’t reply for a while, turning the words over in his head, memorising them, and absently helping himself to yogurt.

‘His rival.’ He echoed at last, watching the headmaster’s expression closely.

A trail of indecipherable emotions fluttered across the wrinkled face.

‘Yes.’

‘The prophecy expects me to be a Lord by Magic?’ Harry asked, curiously. There were three ways to become a ‘Lord’ in wizarding society; a Lord by Blood, a Lord by Inheritance, and a Lord by Magic. Lords by Blood and Inheritance were the heirs of ancient and powerful families, families who had ruled territory independently before the rise of the Ministry of Magic. Lords by Inheritance were chosen as heirs by a deliberate decision of the previous lord of the family, and underwent a ritual to confirm their status. Lords by Blood were the heirs chosen by Magic itself from within the family line, chosen to carry on the legacy of the bloodlines it had long blessed and favoured. Lords by Magic were those blessed individually by Magic; its favoured children, in whom magical strength gathered in a way it simply did not in ordinary witches and wizards. They were not necessarily particularly powerful, although the vast majority tended to be, but rather completely at one with their strength. It was they who many considered the natural leaders of their generations, they who tested the boundaries and laws of magic. It was also Lords by Magic fighting for power and preeminence that led to the vast majority of magical wars, for the rhythms of the world demanded balance, and as soon as a Lord by Magic declared themselves for the Dark, the Light was forced to respond. An endless cycle of violence, driven ever forwards by the desire of the two sides of magic for domination over the other.

‘I do not know, in truth.’ Dumbledore said slowly. ‘There have been Lords by Magic declared at the moment of their seventeenth birthday, and others who only come into their powers after a century or more. There are also many ways to be someone’s rival.’ He said, sighing slightly. ‘Prophecies have a tendency to be terminally unspecific, I fear.’

Harry nodded. He knew that Dumbledore was the only acknowledged Lord by Magic currently in Britain, and had declared himself for the Light sometime during the Grindelwald War. Voldemort had provided a beacon of hope for the Dark-aligned families after decades of Dumbledore’s preeminence.

‘Forfeit the battle in exchange for the war.’ Harry said. ‘That sounds pretty unequivocal.’

Dumbledore nodded. ‘I fear so, my child. It will be a war in which I have no doubt you will play a significant part. I am sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’ Harry told him simply, having long since reconciled himself with the prospect. ‘I will not let my parents have died in vain.’

‘You show remarkable maturity.’ Dumbledore mused, almost to himself. ‘I find myself caught between a desire to train you for what is to come, and a desire to protect your childhood.’

Harry didn’t necessarily want to tell him he was already training himself; the man had been remarkably forthcoming, and had seen to his protection growing up, but was also a declared Light wizard. He would inevitably have an agenda, of which Harry’s safety and happiness were only a tiny part. Harry thought he could trust Dumbledore more than most, but had long since resolved that there were none he could put complete faith in. Ultimately, it would only ever be himself he could rely on.

‘I would be grateful for any teaching you might see fit to give me.’ He said politely, carefully.

Dumbledore looked at him for a long while.

‘How strong is your Occlumency?’ He asked. ‘I know that Nicholas will not have allowed you to come here without some skill in it, and I would not have told you of the prophecy without it, but I must know how comprehensively you have been trained.’

‘Mind Magic has always come easily to me.’ Harry admitted. ‘I am not a Master Occlumens, but my skills would be more than adequate for an active-duty auror.’

Dumbledore nodded.

‘Excellent.’ He sat silently again, and Harry took the opportunity to finish his breakfast, and glance at a beautiful grandfather clock which told him that it was almost time for classes to begin.

‘I would like you to allow me an hour a week in your schedule.’ Dumbledore said at last. ‘Perhaps in the mornings, when I suspect there is less chance of your being missed by your fellows. I’m sure you can give up your run one day a week to indulge me.’

‘Of course.’ Harry agreed immediately, not a little flattered by the offer. ‘Can I ask what we will be doing, Professor?’

‘Many things, many things.’ The old man said breezily. ‘Studying law, politics, the nature of magic. Perhaps even some poetry.’

Harry nodded uncertainly.

‘Oh, before I forget,’ the old man continued, ‘I take it you are aware of the particular danger Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange pose to yourself?’

‘Yes.’ Harry said shortly. Dumbledore eyed him sympathetically.

‘Then I am sure that I do not need to remind you to keep yourself safe.’ He said. ‘There have been few students at Hogwarts in the last century who have demonstrated the potential that those two possessed.’ He warned, before turning his head. ‘Fawkes.’

The great bird fluttered over to land neatly next to Harry on the breakfast table. Harry carefully took the parchment clutched in one golden set of talons and unrolled it to find his timetable.

‘Thank you.’ He told the bird politely, reaching out slowly to stroke the strangely warm feathers. Fawkes leaned into his touch with a slight chirp of happiness.

Dumbledore smiled benevolently, before rising and going over to his desk to extract a map of the castle and grounds, which he handed to Harry.

‘I will let you go to your first class now. I will be in touch about our lessons.’ He said, politely dismissing him.

-

‘Where were you?’ Liram whispered as Harry dropped into the seat next to him.

‘Got distracted on my run.’ Harry lied. ‘Had to go and find breakfast in the kitchens.’

Liram frowned at him, apparently suspicious, but turned his attention back to the front of the class as the teacher came in and called for order.

‘Welcome to Economics.’ The balding, middle-aged professor said, smiling slightly at the disgruntled looks on the faces of his new students.

Harry knew that the class was important, and probably ultimately more useful than most of his others would be, but the knowledge didn’t stop his boredom as Professor Winding spent the next hour and half teaching them ridiculously simple mathematics.

‘Cheer up.’ Liram told him, leaning over as Harry sketched idly on his parchment, having finished the exercise within the first few minutes. ‘It’s Transfiguration next. At least we’ll get to use our wands for that.’

He was correct, in a fashion. After Professor McGonagall had impressed them all by jumping from her desk as a cat and landing on the floor as a human, she delivered a lecture on the dangers and complexities of transfiguration, and then had them attempting to turn matches into needles. It quickly dawned on Harry that some members of the class had been practising magic at home for years, whilst other were complete novices to wandwork. After he’d transfigured his own match into a hat pin with an intricate model of Professor McGonagall’s animagus form on the end he turned to watch his classmates. Liram, Daphne, Anthony and the bushy haired girl Harry had taken note of before the sorting and thought was called Hermione had managed to create the required needle. Half a dozen others in the class were also making good progress, and clearly had some idea what they were doing. The remainder seemed to be poking their matches with their wands, and without much hope.

A boy called Seamus had managed to light half a dozen of his matches, singeing both his desk and his eyebrows in the process. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil seemed to have no interest at all in the exercise, and were busily gossiping away at the back of the room. A boy with flame-red hair, whom Liram said he thought was a Weasley, sat in the row in front of them getting increasingly, and amusingly, frustrated by his match’s stillness.

-

‘May I?’

Daphne, Tracey and Blaise looked up at him curiously.

‘Of course.’ Daphne replied after a moment, gesturing to the space opposite her and next Blaise.

Harry smiled and seated himself at the Slytherin table, receiving a few frowns from the older students nearby for his trouble.

‘How was Potions?’ He asked Blaise curiously as he helped himself to lunch. He knew the other boy had had a double period with Professor Snape that morning. The four houses were mixed up, seemingly randomly, for each subject; supposedly ensuring that they all interacted with everyone in their year at some point.

‘Not bad.’ He commented, helping himself to soup. ‘I don’t think Snape’s too bad with Slytherins, but that chubby Gryffindor, Longbottom, nearly wet himself.’ He smirked at the memory as he spoke.

‘Not good at potions?’

‘Terrible.’ Blaise replied succinctly. ‘I was on the other side of the classroom and even I was afraid that his cauldron would blow up and kill me.’

Harry winced in sympathy.

‘How was McGonagall’s class.’

Daphne shrugged.

‘Easy enough. I think she was trying to work out how much we all knew.’ She looked at Harry. ‘Harry had to show off, of course.’

Blaise rolled his eyes.

‘Naturally.’

‘Can we join you?’

‘You might as well.’ Blaise replied to a curious Liram and a nervous Anthony. The two Ravenclaws hastily sat themselves next to their housemate.

‘Are any of you trying out for Quidditch?’ Harry asked, playing idly with his salad.

‘Quidditch?’ Blaise asked. ‘I didn’t think first years were allowed to play on the house terms.’

‘I don’t think there’s a rule against it.’ Harry said, feeling slightly defensive.

‘But we haven’t even had our first flying lesson.’ Daphne pointed out. ‘I know that most of us have flown before, but still… nearly all of the students on the house teams are at least fourth years.’

‘I was thinking of trying out.’ Harry said quietly.

He felt Daphne and Liram examining him closely, apparently already familiar enough with him to identify his behaviour as uncharacteristic.

‘Well, if there’s no rule against it then I don’t see why you shouldn’t try.’ Liram said supportively, before grinning. ‘I’m not bad on a broom, so I might join you.’

-

‘Excellent!’ The diminutive Professor Flitwick exclaimed happily as he watched a room full of students and floating feathers. ‘A most promising class!’

Liram didn’t bother to restrain his snort. Levitation charms were about as simple as controlled magic got, and he wouldn’t be surprised if even Malfoy’s apparently troll-thick toadies could manage it.

‘Now, seeing as you’ve all apparently found Wingardium Leviosa so easy, perhaps I can challenge you.’ The professor continued, jumping from atop the stack of books on his chair and onto his desk. ‘Levitation charms are not particularly difficult in themselves, but they become more complex as soon as the objects multiply.’ As he spoke he waved his wand and every feather in the room duplicated itself and fluttered slowly, with its new companion, to the desk beneath it.

‘I don’t believe that you’ve had your first period of Arithmancy, but the equation behind this variation is quite simple.’ He continued, levitating a piece of chalk to scrawl a formula on the blackboard behind him. Professor Flitwick spent a few more minutes explaining the method, and the slight variation to the wand movement required to draw additional objects into the spell, before letting his students loose on their feathers.

Liram concentrated on the instruction, and carefully made the gesture, speaking the incantation with the required stresses.

He watched, both pleased and disappointed, as one of his two feathers took immediately to the air, tracking the movement of his wand exactly. The second jerked slightly before trailing lazily after its fellow.

‘Not bad, Mr Shafiq.’ He heard the professor call. ‘But a greater sweep next time, to properly tie the secondary object into the spell. Oh my, Mr Flamel…’

Liram felt the slight smile at the professor’s praise fall from his face as he turned towards his new friend. Harry was sitting at his desk, talking to Daphne, wand twitching idly in one hand as a trail of half a dozen white, fluffy feathers danced obediently through the air, each following the next immediately and with precisely equal gaps. Liram could see Daphne trying to concentrate on the conversation, but her eyes kept flicking to the objects in her peripheral vision.

‘Show off.’ Liram said, nudging the boy, who turned to him with a slight grin.

‘I thought you told me you’d been doing levitation charms since you were eight?’ Harry asked innocently, even as he swept his wand gracefully and added Liram’s two abandoned feathers to his floating flock.

‘I have.’ Liram told him, watching slightly enviously. ‘I can levitate almost anything, but I just don’t know anything about doing multiple objects at once. The arithmancy behind it is…’

‘Simple, as the professor told us.’ Harry said, before getting his feathers to settle themselves decoratively in Tracey’s carefully curled hair.

Her indignant shout of ‘Harry!’ caused Daphne to snort with laughter just as Professor Flitwick toddled over to them.

‘Most impressive, Mr Flamel!’ He said. ‘As I’m sure you know, the arithmancy gets exponentially more complex as you increase the number of objects.’

Harry tilted his head consideringly.

‘It does.’ He acknowledged, ‘but it also runs in a pattern, so if you memorise the sequence of numbers behind it and practise the spell enough then it becomes instinctive.’

Professor Flitwick nodded.

‘Exactly, Mr Flamel, but if you’ve just memorised the sequence from a book then I suspect that the intricacies of the charm’s construction might have escaped you.’

Harry grinned.

‘My father had similar concerns.’ He said. ‘The Levitation Charm was the first he taught me, and he made me work out the next sequence of numbers every time when adding objects to it.’

Flitwick nodded approvingly.

‘Very well done, that’s at least fourth year Arithmancy. Ten points to Ravenclaw, and exemption from the homework.’

Harry almost failed to hold back his smirk as the redheaded Weasley in front of him turned to glare at him.

-

‘Are you coming?’

‘You go on,’ Harry told Liram as they neared the door of the Charms classroom. ‘I just want to speak to Professor Flitwick about something.’

The other boy frowned slightly, but nodded and left with Anthony in tow.

‘Yes, Mr Potter, can I help you?’

Harry jerked his head back round as he approached the teacher’s desk, making sure that none of his departing classmates were in earshot. Professor Flitwick chuckled.

‘Don’t worry.’ He said. ‘When a student approaches my desk to have a private word then no one in the room can hear them except for me.’

Harry nodded, reassured, though still a little uncomfortable at being addressed by the name he was trying to conceal.

‘Thank you for telling me, sir,’ he began respectfully, before broaching the topic he’d wanted to ask about. ‘I was wondering about your duelling club…’ He continued, pausing slightly.

‘Oh yes?’ The professor asked, smiling. ‘It’s proved very popular over the last few years. As I believe Professor Dumbledore said at the feast last night, the first session for first to third years will be immediately after school tomorrow in the Great Hall.’

Harry nodded.

‘Yes, sir.’ He agreed. ‘But you see, I was wondering whether you might let me come to the more Advanced Class on Thursdays?’

The man frowned.

‘Hmm.’ He said. ‘I have, in the past, allowed some third years to join my Advanced Class, if they showed sufficient promise, but a first year? Is it your schedule that stops you from coming on Tuesdays?’

Harry shook his head.

‘No, sir, it’s just that I’ve already done quite a lot of duelling, and I think that I would be more comfortable in the class on Thursday.’

‘Hmm.’ The professor repeated, eyeing him. ‘There are quite a number of students who come to Hogwarts with some experience of duelling, even at thirteen, so I do not think you would find yourself alone in having some skill.’

‘Sir, I would be happy to try the junior sessions, but I really think I would be more suited to the more advanced class.’

Professor Flitwick looked slightly surprised that he had pressed the matter, however politely. Eventually, though, he nodded thoughtfully.

‘Are you free after school today, at, say half five?’

Harry nodded.

‘I can be, sir.’ He replied curiously.

‘Excellent. There is another student seeking to join the senior class, a third year. I told him at the end of last year that if he practised hard over the summer then I would allow him to join the advanced students. I will be testing him this afternoon. I was going to ask one of my fourth years to be his opponent, but if you’re willing to volunteer yourself…’

‘I am.’ Harry told him. His voice was calm, but he felt a thrill of excitement run through him at the thought of fighting someone close to his age.

‘Then I will see you this afternoon, Mr Potter. You may give this to your next professor.’ Flitwick said, dismissing him with a scrap of parchment.


	4. Trial by Combat

‘Ah, Mr… Flamel.’

Harry had made his way down to the dungeons for his first Potions lesson as quickly as possible, but still entered the dark, cavernous classroom several minutes late.

The professor who swooped towards him as he came in was of middling height, with a sallow face surrounded by curtains of dark hair. Beetle-black eyes pierced him as the man strode past the rest of the class, robes swirling.

Harry frowned at the man’s obvious, deliberate pause over his name. He knew that Professor Snape was the head of Slytherin house, and would thus be aware of who he was.

‘I apologise for my lateness, professor.’ He said politely, keeping his expression neutral. ‘I had to have a few words with Professor Flitwick.’ He excused himself, handing over the note.

Snape glanced at the parchment before scowling and crumpling it.

‘Take a seat.’ He told him abruptly. ‘We will soon see whether a famous father can save you from disaster when you fail to arrive in time for your instructions.’

Harry hastily went to join Liram. Anthony and his new Slytherin friends had other lessons, so it was just the two of them surrounded by students Harry only knew by name and the house they had been sorted into.

‘Begin.’

‘What are we making?’ Harry muttered to Liram as he dropped into the seat next to him.

‘Blood Replenishing potions.’ The other boy replied. ‘I collected your case.’ He nodded to the big black box sitting on the desk.

‘Thanks.’ Harry replied. He knew the Hogwarts house elves had delivered all of their potions cases to a store room in the dungeons, because even with space-enlargement and featherweight charms they would be too bulky and heavy to carry around the castle all day. ‘Hang on, Blood Replenishment?’ He asked. ‘That’s not a first year potion.’

‘I know.’ Liram agreed grimly. ‘He’s had all of the other classes making boil-curing mixtures, but this is at least twice as complicated. He claims the Hospital Wing is running low.’ Liram rolled his eyes with his final words, showing Harry just what he thought of both Professor Snape’s assertion, and the idea of first year students in their first ever Potions lesson supplying the Hospital Wing with concoctions.

‘Mr Flamel. Not even three minutes into the part of my lesson you’ve bothered to attend and already showing off.’ Professor Snape sneered from the front of the classroom.

Harry, who had been attempting to unpack and set up his gold cauldron as inconspicuously as possible, stiffened as he felt the entirety of the class turn to stare at him.

‘My father insisted on buying me this equipment, professor.’ He replied neutrally. ‘He says that gold is the best material for cauldrons and other potioneering equipment.’

Even Professor Snape would not dare to question the expertise of Nicholas Flamel, he knew, but it didn’t stop the retort.

‘Indeed it is, Mr Flamel, and I quite understand that some parents are eager to give their children all the help they can.’ He paused. ‘Some children need it.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Harry agreed calmly, pushing back his irritation as he poked his wand to ignite the kindling beneath his cauldron.

-

‘Is there nothing you’re bad at?’ Liram asked mournfully just over an hour later, staring at the glossy pink mixture that filled Harry’s gleaming cauldron. Liram’s potion wasn’t bad, Harry thought as he looked at it; it was the right colour, but had nowhere near the sheen it should have.

‘Potions isn’t my strong suit. I’ve just had lots of practise.’ Harry claimed, feeling a bit uncomfortable as he knew his was the only potion in the room that Madame Pomfrey would even take a second look at. ‘The equipment gives me a bit of an advantage, and my father would cry with shame if he’d raised a child who didn’t know what they were doing with a cauldron.’

‘Mr Flamel?’

‘Yes, professor?’ Harry responded innocently.

‘Please refrain from showing off to your classmates.’

Professor Snape’s tone was sneering, but Harry noticed that the words themselves lacked the bite they might have had as he leaned over his cauldron to examine its contents.

‘Barely adequate.’ He declared eventually, summoning a clinking rack of phials with a stab of his wand and muttering a brief incantation to decant the potion into them. ‘As for the rest of you…’ He turned away to address the rest of the nervous-looking class. ‘Two and a half feet of parchment on precisely why your potions all failed. Dismissed.’

Harry and Liram hastily packed up their equipment and fled the room. It was the end of the school day, so they headed up to the Great Hall, where they’d arranged to meet the others.

‘How was it?’ Tracey asked eagerly as they sat down with her, Daphne and Blaise at the Slytherin table.

Liram shrugged.

‘As expected. Snape really is a wanker. Harry has yet to reveal a weakness.’

Tracey giggled at Liram’s insult, but Daphne and Blaise were eyeing Harry.

‘You managed to impress him with a boil curing potion?’ Daphne asked.

Liram shook his head and replied before Harry could speak.

‘He had us making Blood Replenishing potions for the Hospital wing. Harry’s was the only one he didn’t vanish at the end of the lesson.’

‘How was Muggle Studies?’ Harry asked curiously, changing the topic.

The three Slytherins, who’d all just had the class, looked at one another briefly before responding.

‘Weird.’ Tracey said eventually. ‘It’s like… they can do such cool stuff, but it’s so complicated.’

Harry looked at her curiously.

‘Well,’ she expanded, ‘like this aeroplane thing Professor Babbling was telling us about. It’s like a flying machine with wings like a bird, only they don’t move, and all the muggles sit inside the body and it takes them to different places. Apparently they can go like three times as fast as the fastest brooms and carry hundreds of people.’ She rushed out, apparently excited.

Harry grinned at her, amused. He’d been on aeroplanes before to travel with his guardians as they went on various research trips. International Floo stations were confusing and tightly regulated affairs, besides, they couldn’t manage hops of more than a couple of hundred miles in one go, which meant that to cross the Atlantic you had to trail through a dozen Flooports levitating above the waves, each with its own customs checks and complications.

‘They can.’ He agreed. ‘They can also fly higher than any broom, because they push oxygen into the inside to stop everyone fainting from the altitude.’

‘Wow.’ Tracey said. ‘Have you been on one?’

‘I have.’ Harry acknowledged. ‘Although they’re not really that exciting, to be honest. You just sit there and read books or watch films for hours until you arrive at where you want to go.’

‘I’d still like to try one out one day.’ Tracey said firmly.

‘Dad doesn’t trust them.’ Liram said, swallowing a mouthful of the strange fruit he’d taken from a bowl on the table. When not in use for mealtimes or clubs, the Great Hall served as a kind of social space for the school, letting people from different houses mingle. That the house elves kept the tables well supplied with snacks throughout the day no doubt helped its popularity. ‘Says they could fall out of the sky at any second.’

‘But he’s a wizard. He could use a broom to escape.’ Tracey reasoned.

Liram shrugged.

‘He doesn’t really like brooms either. He leaves the athletic stuff to my mother most of the time. Speaking of which, Harry, the try outs for the Ravenclaw team are on Wednesday, straight after school.’

Harry nodded.

‘I saw the board in the common room this morning. You’re still up for going?’

Liram nodded.

‘Yup. I was talking to Roger Davies earlier,’ he said, naming the good-looking third year Harry had spoken to at the opening feast, ‘and he says a couple of the Chasers left last year. We might just be in with a chance.’

‘I was thinking of going for Seeker.’ Harry said.

Liram frowned.

‘But that’s always the most competitive position on the team.’ He objected. ‘Plus, we have a decent Seeker, and apparently the reserve girl is pretty hot on a broom.’

Harry shrugged.

‘I’m not really a team player.’ He said. ‘I might as well give Seeker a go.’

‘It’s up to you.’ Liram agreed, though he sounded dubious.

‘Anyway, I have to go now.’ Harry said after glancing at his watch.

‘Go? Where?’ Tracey asked, confused.

‘I’ll tell you about it later.’ Harry said, standing and shoving his bag over one shoulder. ‘If it works out.’ He muttered under his breath as he walked away.

He nodded to Anthony as the other boy entered the hall just as he was leaving, before hastening up the dizzying network of moving staircases to the Charms classroom on the third floor. He looked at his watch again before knocking, relieved to see he was on time.

‘Come in, Mr Flamel.’ Professor Flitwick’s voice called cheerfully.

Harry entered the room to find the professor standing on the chair behind his desk and smiling as he faced a tall youth whose back was turned to him.

Harry couldn’t help but admire the boy’s clearly extremely fit form as he walked over to join them. He had taken off his outer robe to stand in his school trousers and shirt, the tailoring of which highlighted his broad shoulders and slim hips. The grey material clung to his lean arse and muscular thighs, and it was only the sudden pause in conversation between the two that dragged Harry’s gaze away. He forced away his blush, but immediately felt it trying to rise again with new intensity as the boy turned towards him. The late afternoon sun caught in the gold of his hair and gleamed on his flawless, tanned skin. High, prominent cheekbones supported deep, dark grey eyes under sculpted brows. He was outrageously good-looking Harry thought, heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. He forced his Occlumency barriers forward in an attempt to slow his heart rate.

‘Mr Diggory,’ The professor began, ‘this is Harry Flamel. Mr Flamel, this is Cedric Diggory.’

‘Hi.’ The boy, who Harry suddenly decided made a better Adonis than his cat, flashed him a dazzling smile and extended his hand. Harry took it with as much confidence as he could muster, and swallowed as the warmth of the firm, steady grip seemed to burn its way up his arm. He looked into the other boy’s eyes, which had narrowed slightly with appraisal, and fixed a grin in place.

‘Hi.’ He replied, struggling for the first time in his life for more words to say.

‘So, boys…’ Professor Flitwick interrupted after a few long seconds, and the two of them jerked their hands out of one another’s, suddenly realising how odd their stance would seem.

‘You’re both trying to get into my Advanced Class.’ Professor Flitwick continued cheerfully. ‘I was just explaining to Cedric here about you,’ he said, speaking to Harry, before addressing them both. ‘So what I thought we could do is stage a mock duel between the two of you, and I will be able to assess whether you have what it takes to keep up with the older students.’

Harry nodded, though he noticed an uncharacteristic measure of nervousness mix with the excitement he normally felt before taking to the platform. The other boy’s mere presence, standing less than two feet to his left, made it very difficult to concentrate on anything the professor was saying. He glanced over to see the golden-haired youth eyeing him, frowning more deeply.

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ He asked, cautiously. ‘I mean…’ he began, sounding slightly, and adorably, awkward. ‘I’m likely to have a lot more experience than you… and I’ve been training all summer to get into the Advanced Class.’

‘Well, we’re about to find out, aren’t we?’ Harry asked, the most he felt he could say with his suddenly dry throat.

‘Excellent!’ The professor exclaimed again, before jumping off his chair and walking round his desk. ‘Follow me then.’

The two of them walked after the man, the top of whose head barely reached Harry’s chest, as he led them from the classroom and into a big chamber further down the corridor. It was wide and shallow, with a high, vaulted ceiling and a big bank of windows filling the wall opposite the door. A standard-sized duelling strip stood on a platform perhaps four feet high that stretched in front of them.

‘Take your positions, gentlemen.’ The professor called as he walked around the left hand side of the platform to climb onto the chair on stilts that stood in front of the windows, facing the centre of the strip.

Harry and Cedric glanced briefly at one another before moving to opposite ends of the platform, Harry to the right and Cedric to the left. Harry shrugged off his robe as he mounted the steps, dropping it casually to one side. He quickly removed his shoes as well, knowing the stiff, polished leather would impede his movement, limited though it was by the width of the strip. Walking over to stand on the silver circle that marked his starting position on the midnight blue expanse of cloth, he flicked his Ollivander wand from its holster into his right hand, working his tie off with his left.

He looked up, having finished his preparations, to find the other boy in a similar state of dress.

‘Mr Diggory, I know that you have a particular fondness for transfiguration when duelling.’ Professor Flitwick announced. ‘Do either of you gentlemen object to the standard five pieces of duelling clay being provided to each of you?’

Harry frowned. It was extremely unprofessional of the professor to reveal his opponent’s strengths to him, whilst he remained an unknown quantity. He suspected that Flitwick was trying to even the odds by giving him advance warning, and it didn’t seem to have bothered the other boy, but he felt a prickle of irritation nonetheless.

‘Of course not.’ Harry answered. Cedric had remained silent, so Harry assumed that his agreement was taken as read. No wonder, if he specialised in transfiguration. Duelling clay was a substance manufactured to be particularly amenable to all forms of transfiguration, able to be altered and remoulded rapidly and repeatedly with no lessening in the quality of the result.

Professor Flitwick nodded and reached into his robes to pull a lumpy grey-brown mass from them. He twirled his wand in a complicated pattern to tear it into ten equal pieces, before making a couple of short gestures to send five lumps landing in a straight line on the platform a few feet in front of each competitor.

‘Gentlemen, you may bow.’ He said.

Harry and Cedric paced forwards on sock-clad feet until they were ten or so feet apart. Harry looked into those captivating eyes for a moment before dropping into a respectful bow, mirrored by his opponent. They turned and walked back to their starting positions, exactly sixty feet apart from one another.

Cedric flashed Harry a heart-stopping grin as they turned around, before shifting to stand side-on, wand held steadily out in front of him. Harry took a moment to examine the other boy’s stance, admiring his form as he did so. He thought he could read a slight caution in his body and expression, although he couldn’t tell whether it was because of his unknown opponent, or because Harry was at least two years younger and he didn’t want to harm him.

Harry assumed his own stance, standing almost side-on, but with his back foot poised to jerk him to one side. He held his wand low, grip loose.

‘Ready.’ The two boys called out almost simultaneously. Harry could feel the sudden, electrifying thrill of adrenaline running through his veins as Professor Flitwick conjured a red globe of light, hovering it at eye-level between the two competitors.

Red… White… Green… the orb flashed successively, before vanishing.

Harry swept his wand diagonally immediately, watching Cedric conjure a gleaming silver shield before doing anything else. But Cedric hadn’t been the target of his powerful, wordless banishing charm. The five lumps of clay sitting in front of his opponent flew to one side, jerking beyond the perimeter of the wards surrounding the strip and slapping onto the stone floor. Harry, cutting his wand back down, banished his own clay in the opposite direction. Transfiguration during a duel wasn’t really his style, and he wasn’t going to let his opponent use his own resources against him.

Harry could see Cedric frown with sudden consternation behind his opalescent shield, and watched as it dropped suddenly, replaced by a rapid barrage of spellfire. Half a dozen underpowered Stunners flew towards him within the space of a couple of heartbeats, their lack of strength fading their normal bright red colour and making them more difficult to track. Harry flicked his wand rapidly, snatching the spells out of the air and deflecting them randomly out towards the wards.

Cedric’s look of amazement was gratifying, and gave Harry a momentary opening he would have been mad to miss.

‘Incarcerous.’ He called, the first verbal spell of the match, and a thick mass of ropes snapped out of the end of his wand, writhing like snakes as they flew towards his opponent. Cedric managed to banish most of them, tearing the last couple to shreds with an overpowered Diffindo. Unfortunately for him, the ropes had been a distraction. Harry hadn’t needed to cast the spell verbally, but hoped that it would prove an additional distraction as he fired a mass of invisible, silent disarming charms immediately after them. The lightning-quick reactions of his opponent meant that only a couple managed to touch him, but Harry only needed one. His opponent’s wand jerked out of his hand and snapped across the distance between them for him to catch neatly. He kept his own wand raised. He knew it was extremely unlikely that Cedric could do anything particularly dangerous wandlessly, but he would be a fool to assume, and had been burned once before by such a mistake.

‘Marvellous.’ Professor Flitwick called, clapping. Harry wasn’t quite sure why, when the entire duel had lasted barely ten seconds, but smiled and bowed to his stunned-looking opponent.

‘Dyou want to go again?’ He asked Cedric politely, suspecting that it was at least partly surprise that had been the other boy’s downfall.

‘No, no, no, I have seen quite enough.’ Professor Flitwick interjected before the other boy could respond. ‘I bid you both welcome to my Advanced Class.’

Harry and Cedric both looked at him, surprised. The professor chuckled before explaining.

‘Excellent tactics. Very good reflexes. Even silent casting and spell deflection.’ Flitwick summarised. ‘You two are both forces to be reckoned with. Mr Diggory, you have clearly put a huge amount of work into your non-verbal spells over the summer, even if I didn’t get to see any of your marvellous transfiguration. Mr Flamel, that was quite remarkable. Deflection is a skill even my most talented and experienced students struggle with, and yet you made it look effortless.’ Harry smiled politely at the compliment as he went to return the other boy’s wand to him. He swallowed even at the gentle brush of the other boy’s fingers against his as he handed his weapon back.

‘Well played.’ He complimented, smiling.

Cedric Diggory shook his head, a small, rueful grin playing about his lips.

‘Hardly, or at least not compared to you. I lasted what, eight? Nine seconds? Against a first year.’

Harry shrugged.

‘I’ve had quite a lot of training.’ He replied, trying to be modest, but barely repressing the broad grin that wanted to spread its way across his face.

-

‘You’ve what?’

‘I’ve got into Professor Flitwick’s Advanced Class.’ Harry repeated calmly to an amazed-looking Liram. He’d returned to the Ravenclaw common room after the duel to find Liram and Anthony sitting together in a corner, books open in front of them as they talked quietly.

‘He let you in?’ Liram asked again, sounding almost confused.

‘He did.’ Harry confirmed. ‘He made me duel a guy called Cedric in third year, and let us both into the Thursday class afterwards.’

‘Cedric Diggory?’

Harry turned in his seat at Padma Patil’s exclamation.

‘Yes.’ He agreed, watching with amusement as Mandy Brocklehurst, sitting next to Padma, flushed bright red.

He turned back round when it seemed that Padma wasn’t going to say anything more to him, leaning in to giggle and whisper to her friend.

‘Cedric who?’ Anthony asked.

‘Diggory.’ Liram replied. ‘I don’t know much about him, but I think his father is the head of one of the smaller departments at the Ministry. The Diggorys are an old family,’ he continued, ‘and they used to be very prominent, but they’ve lost most of their wealth and slowly drifted further and further away from power.’

Harry nodded, interested in spite of himself in the family of the boy he’d found his thoughts unable to move away from.

‘What’s the work?’ He asked, trying to distract himself.

‘Potions.’ Liram replied. ‘I’ve got that essay Snape set everyone except you, and Anthony’s is something to do with other things the boil curing potion he made can be used as a base for.’

‘Sounds exciting.’ Harry said, smirking slightly before taking out his own book; a thousand page biography of Nicholas Flamel that had been written by someone who’d never met the alchemist, and that he was finding hilarious.

‘Is that…’ Anthony began, staring at the volume. ‘A book about your father?’

‘Yup.’

-

‘Hogsmeade!’ Tracey exclaimed at breakfast the next morning, reading the headline from Harry’s paper. ‘That’s the village where the station is.’

‘Yes.’ Daphne agreed grimly, leaning across the table slightly to look at the front page article as Harry read the inside.

‘I wonder what they’re trying to achieve.’ She murmured, returning her attention to spreading marmalade on a slice of toast. Sirius Black and Bellatrax Lestrange had apparently been spotted in Hogsmeade the afternoon before, although thankfully they hadn’t repeated their tactics from Diagon Alley and attempted to burn it to the ground.

Liram snorted from his position next to her.

‘Didn’t you see their pictures in the Prophet a few weeks ago? They’re clearly mad. They don’t need to have objectives.’

Daphne shrugged, apparently unconvinced, but didn’t respond.

‘Are you looking forward to flying, Anthony?’ Tracey said, smirking.

The bookish boy looked a little pale. All six of them had their first flying lesson that morning, and Harry had guessed from watching Liram quietly try to encourage his friend that Anthony wasn’t exactly comfortable on a broom.

‘Not really.’ He replied miserably, poking unenthusiastically at his bowl of porridge.

‘Have you ever flown before?’ Blaise asked. Harry had been slightly surprised when he’d joined Daphne and Tracey with them at the Ravenclaw table that morning. Previously, he had sat with them when they ate with the Slytherins, but socialised with another group when the girls joined them.

‘Not really.’ Anthony repeated. ‘I’ve tried to fly before at Liram’s house, but it didn’t go well.’

Liram didn’t look like he was about to disagree with that assessment, although he was eyeing the other boy sympathetically.

‘Have you all flown before?’ Harry asked, draining his goblet of orange juice. The others were drinking pumpkin juice, but Harry found the taste slightly odd.

They nodded. Blaise muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘Of course.’

‘Do you think we’ll be playing Quidditch?’ Tracey asked, looking hopeful.

Liram shook his head.

‘I doubt it. There are at least a dozen muggleborns in our year, so some of the people in our class have almost certainly never flown. I expect that Madame Hooch will just be teaching us all basic broom safety and control.’

Harry grinned internally at the boy’s attempt to soothe his friend, though he couldn’t help but feel disappointed that the lesson was likely to be dominated by things he’d learned when he’d first been allowed to mount a broom at the age of six.

-

Madame Hooch was a fit, spare looking middle-aged woman with bristly grey hair and a hawklike face. She strode across the grassed courtyard towards them, flying robes fluttering around her.

‘Good morning students.’ She began in a hard voice. ‘Welcome to your first flying lesson. Today you will all be learning how to mount a broom properly, how to lift off, touch down, and land safely.’

Harry saw Anthony’s look of relief as the teacher summarised the program of events.

‘Miss,’ the blond-haired head of Draco Malfoy spoke up with a note of condescension, ‘what if we can already do all of those things?’

Harry was curious as well, but knew better than to ask the question, and so watched with amusement as the teacher narrowed her eyes at the boy.

‘Mr Malfoy, yes?’ She asked, and the boy nodded. ‘You will be learning precisely the skills I have just listed, and if I deem you to have mastered them then you will be helping your less experienced fellows.’

His pale cheeks flushed slightly, but he nodded again, apparently quelled for the moment.

‘Now.’ Madame Hooch continued. ‘I want each of you to step up beside a broom.’ She said, indicating the two rows of ten broomsticks lined up neatly on the grass. Harry moved over to one, flanked by Liram on one side and Blaise on the other. The school brooms were no match for his Nimbus, of course, but they were well kept and, from what he could tell, relatively new.

‘Extend your hand over your broom, and in a firm voice say “Up!”’ Madame Hooch instructed.

Harry held out his hand and willed the broom into his grasp. He saw Liram and a few others had done the same. Most of the class had managed to get their brooms to slap into their grips with Madame Hooch’s instruction. Anthony’s broom was rolling about on the ground. The round faced boy he’d discovered was called Neville Longbottom didn’t even seem to be trying to command his broom, merely holding a slightly trembling hand gingerly above it and muttering under his breath.

Most of the class was forced to wait whilst Madame Hooch went round the less confident members of the class. Eventually, though, and with a little encouragement from their housemates, they all had a broom in hand.

‘Now, mount your brooms by swinging one leg over and locating the cushioning charm with your buttocks.’ The teacher instructed crisply.

They all did as instructed, though Anthony looked pale and the Longbottom boy was clutching his broom so tightly Harry was wondering whether his fingers or the handle would snap first.

‘Now, when I blow my whistle, and not a moment before, you will all kick off firmly, rise no higher than I am tall into the air, and then lean forwards to return to the ground.’

She blew the whistle, and twenty brooms followed her instructions. Or, at least, twenty brooms followed her instructions for the span of three or four seconds before Neville Longbottom rose above the throng, whimpering audibly.

‘Mr Longbottom!’ Madame Hooch shouted, ‘Lean forwards and return to the ground immediately!’

Harry couldn’t be sure whether it was the sky or his own terror Neville was too far into to hear her, but the boy continued to lean backwards, clinging on desperately as his broom bucked in his grip, rising in fits and starts above the neatly mown lawn.

Madame Hooch had her wand out and was waving it frantically at him. The rest of the class had all returned to the ground and were muttering to one another as they stared up at the terrified Gryffindor.

It was curious, Harry thought, as Neville Longbottom suddenly rolled in midair and tumbled off his broom, that he felt no need to attempt to intercede. He registered, in the split second after the boy fell into empty air and the screams of his classmates rose around him, that he was supposed to want to help. And yet, he didn’t. He cared nothing for Neville Longbottom, had never actually spoken to the boy, and so his hand dangled loosely at his side and his wand remained in its holster.

Luckily for the boy, one of Madame Hooch’s charms found him before he hit the ground. His descent slowed abruptly and he landed on the grass with a soft thump. The class watched in relieved silence as Madame Hooch hurried over to the clearly alive boy.

‘Now!’ She called as she slung one of Longbottom’s arms around her shoulder and supported the hobbling boy. ‘You are all dismissed back to your common rooms, the lesson will resume next week.’

Harry frowned. Neville’s injuries were clearly relatively significant if he required a teacher to cancel a lesson in order to escort him to the Hospital Wing. He couldn’t help but feel more disappointment that he wouldn’t get to do any more flying, however rudimentary. His Nimbus sat locked in a case at the foot of his bed in Ravenclaw Tower; first years were not permitted to fly independently on school grounds until Madame Hooch had deemed them competent.

‘You know what?’

Harry was pulled from his thoughts by Zacharias Smith’s loud drawl. Harry knew he was in Hufflepuff, and had to acknowledge the boy’s height, mess of dirty blond hair and regular features made him handsome, but even two days into term he’d come to the conclusion that he didn’t like him very much. Arrogance was fine… but only if you could back it up.

‘I think the fat fuck should just have stayed indoors.’ The boy continued, having drawn the attention he wanted. A chorus of giggles greeted his words. ‘Really, I think without him, this lesson just became a lot safer.’

Harry couldn’t disagree with the assessment.

‘So, anyone fancy a game of catch?’ Zacharias asked, pulling a miniature Quaffle from inside his robes. Tracey stepped forwards eagerly, as did a couple of boys from Gryffindor, but the Hufflepuff’s eyes were elsewhere.

‘Flamel.’ He said, gaze zeroed on Harry. ‘Someone told me you’re planning to try out for your house Quidditch team.’ He snorted. ‘As a first year. Ravenclaw must be bad if you think you stand a chance, but why don’t you show us?’

Harry knew a pissing contest when he saw one, and that the only way to stay dry himself was to drench Zacharias.

‘I take it you’re not daring to go for a spot on the Hufflepuff team then, Smith?’ He replied curiously, injecting as much disdain as he could into the boy’s name. He didn’t know anything of the Smith family, and if he didn’t then the chances were good that they weren’t particularly significant. It was irritating, however, that his intentions had got out. Now he would have to get a spot on the team, or at the very least the reserve squad, to avoid losing face.

The boy flushed slightly, but his smirk remained in place.

‘Well,’ he continued suggestively, ‘if I beat you then I might just give it a shot.’

‘Zacharias, I can call you that? If you beat me then you might as well just skip to the professional leagues.’

The boy’s eyebrows rose.

‘Really, that good, huh?’

Harry took to his broom and floated a few feet into the air.

‘Coming?’

The other boy grinned and kicked off hard. Harry eyed his form intently as he drifted after him. Smith knew what he was doing, no doubt about it. His form was slightly loose, but he looked easy in the saddle, and the turn he managed as he span to face Harry was probably about as tight as the school brooms could handle.

‘First one to miss loses!’ He shouted, holding his broom steady with one hand and tossing the small Quaffle in the other. Harry nodded. If he tried to add any rules, however sensible, then Zacharias would bait him. Besides, it wasn’t as if he needed them. Zacharias’ first throw was fast and hard, leaving his grip at an almost flat trajectory and flying straight towards Harry’s head.

Harry didn’t bother to move his broom, instead snapping up his right hand and catching the ball in a firm grip perhaps six inches from his face.

‘Ready, Zacharias?’ He called back to a boy who looked suddenly slightly less confident. He had the grace to wait for the nod before mirroring the shot he’d received. And the Hufflepuff caught it, but had jerked his whole body to one side instinctively before raising his arm.

‘So little faith in your abilities?’

The Hufflepuff ignored him and flung the ball viciously to one side, Harry’s left, and slightly downwards. Harry approved the choice. The boy had clearly registered he was right-handed, and so aimed for his weaker side. By throwing downwards he would reduce the time Harry had to reach his target before it hit the ground. It was a shame, then, that the direction had been predictable, and that halfway through the boy’s swing Harry had begun moving.

‘Not bad.’ Harry called, tossing the ball in his left hand as he eyed his opponent. ‘Can you catch with both hands, too?’ He wondered aloud, before flicking the ball towards the air immediately beneath Smith.

The boy was easily bluffed, but handy enough in the air that he recovered just in time, snatching the ball out of the air by the tips of his fingers. Harry grinned as he saw the other boy wince and try not to cradle his strained hand.

‘You can forfeit.’

The Hufflepuff grimaced and moved the Quaffle to his uninjured hand before throwing it wildly towards a spot just over Harry’s left shoulder. Too easy. Harry thought as it slapped against his palm, before throwing it as hard as he could in the direction of the other boy’s injured side. He felt slightly guilty as Smith reached for it instinctively with his damaged fingers, before flailing them back and grasping with his left hand. He missed, and the two of them watched in silence as the ball fell to the grass, just beyond the mass of watching students.

Harry flew over to the Hufflepuff and nodded, deciding a handshake would probably be undiplomatic.

‘Well played.’

‘You too.’ The other boy said, though Harry couldn’t tell whether his teeth were gritted by the pain or the words.

They returned to the ground, and Harry was quickly surrounded by the Ravenclaws in the class as well as Daphne, Tracey and Blaise.

‘You were brilliant!’ Tracey squealed, embracing him tightly, before pulling back with a slight blush.

‘You know,’ Liram said, looking at him, ‘you might just have a chance on the house team after all.’

‘Mr Flamel! Mr Smith!’

Harry looked up to see the tall figure of Professor McGonagall striding across the court in their direction.

‘Come with me.’ She instructed as soon as she’d reached the clustered students, and watched imperiously as the admirers grouped around the two boys reluctantly released them to her wrath.


	5. So, you want to know my weaknesses?

‘I must say that I am very disappointed in both of you boys. Your work in my first lesson was exemplary, and to have two such promising students contravening school regulations so blatantly is most upsetting. There is no flying permitted outside of class within the castle itself, and until Madame Hooch has declared you capable then flying over the grounds is also banned. I take it you both knew this?’

Harry stood next to Smith in front of McGonagall’s desk and tried to look regretful as he nodded.

‘Fifteen points from both Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. You will also be serving a detention in the next week. I will let you know when I have made the arrangements.’ The professor said shortly, before dismissing them. Harry left quickly, grateful to have got off so lightly. In truth, he would have considered a more severe punishment well worth the increased reputation he would now no doubt have amongst his classmates.

-

Harry joined the others in the Great Hall for morning break.

‘So what did she do to you?’ Liram asked eagerly.

He shrugged.

‘Down fifteen points and some kind of detention.’

Liram whistled.

‘More than worth it, then.’ He decided.

They spent the next twenty minutes discussing the events of the class, and reassuring Anthony that at least he hadn’t come out of it the worst off.

‘Do you think Neville will be back in class today?’ Tracey wondered.

‘Probably.’ Blaise decided. ‘He walked away from the accident, even if he was hanging onto Hooch like a muggle on a sinking ship.’

‘What do you all have next?’ Harry asked, and found that only Daphne was sharing his double period of Magical Theory.

‘Do we really have to do Theory?’ She asked as they made their way over to the classroom on the far side of the castle. ‘It’s not as if most of us don’t know this stuff already.’

‘That’s probably why we only have to do it this year.’ Harry replied. ‘They’re just making sure we have a basic understanding so we can move on in our other subjects without having to ask questions every five minutes.’

Daphne nodded reluctantly.

‘At least we don’t have to go to those magical society lectures after school they’re making the muggleborns attend.’ She said.

The class was as basic as expected, although Harry thought that the teacher explained the simple concepts she was going over remarkably efficiently, and noted that more than half of the class were busy scribbling away on their parchment.

-

The next morning brought two notes to Harry at the breakfast table, both delivered from the hand of a severe looking Professor McGonagall. The first informed him that his detention was to be held on Saturday evening, and would be supervised by Hagrid. The second, equally brief and scrawled in an elegant, looping hand, asked him to come to the headmaster’s office at seven o’clock on Friday morning. He hid that one from his new friends, not quite sure exactly how he would explain away having private meetings with Albus Dumbledore.

‘Smith doesn’t look happy.’ Liram commented, nudging him. Harry glanced over to the Hufflepuff table to see the boy glaring at the note in his hand. Before he returned his attention to the bowl of cereal in front of him, however, his eye caught on the form of Cedric Diggory, grinning and laughing with a group of friends a few seats along from Smith. The other boy glanced up before he could look away, and Harry found himself caught in his gaze for a few seconds as the smile slowly faded from Cedric’s face. Harry forced himself to give a brief nod, returned after a moment, and look casually away before he could embarrass himself further.

‘…Defence now.’ He heard Blaise saying as he turned back round.

‘I wonder what we’ll be doing.’ Daphne mused. ‘I think the other classes have all had a different professor to us.

The classroom they arrived at ten minutes later was large and almost empty, a cavernous space devoid of chairs and desks. Harry could see half a dozen grindylows floating, apparently dazed, in a large tank of water against one wall. A huge green lizard was curled around one of the cast iron candelabras suspended from the ceiling. The most noticeable thing, however, was the great wardrobe of dark wood that stood in the centre of the far wall, its brass knob rattling ominously.

‘Good morning!’

The class looked up from where they were milling around just inside the entrance to see a man coming down the short flight of stairs off to one side that, presumably, led to an office. He was fairly tall, with long russet hair that seemed to be thinning prematurely. His features were careworn, but the smile he gave them seemed genuine enough.

‘Now, I don’t normally take first year classes.’ He began as he walked over to stand in front of them. ‘But Professor Quirrell has kindly allowed me one of his this year. My name is Professor Lupin and I’d like to welcome you all to Defence Against the Dark Arts.’

He spoke for a few more minutes, and waved his wand to send a stack of parchments fluttering round his audience, containing a list of topics for the year.

‘Now that that’s out of the way, I’d like to introduce you to something I keep in my wardrobe.’ The professor said, gesturing towards the shaking piece of furniture.

‘Any guesses?’

The class remained silent, though Harry could see a few of them surreptitiously glancing at the lists they’d been given in an attempt to work it out.

‘No?’ The professor seemed unsurprised. ‘Well, perhaps one of you can tell me what a boggart is?’

Harry froze, frowning at the man as three or four hands went up into the air.

‘Yes, you.’ Professor Lupin said, pointing at Padma.

‘A shape-shifter, sir.’ She began. ‘They like to hide in dark places, like your wardrobe,’ she continued, grinning slightly before sobering. ‘They feed on fear, and transform into your worst nightmare.’

Professor Lupin nodded and smiled slightly as the rest of the class began murmuring, worried.

‘Very good. Ten points to Ravenclaw. I would just like to clarify a couple of points, though. Unlike Dementors, boggarts don’t actually feed on fear. Their shape-shifting is a defence mechanism; used to ward off curious wizards rather than provide them with sustenance. Equally, their transformation is not a true transfiguration, but rather an illusion given some semblance of solidity by their magic. This is crucial, for if you understand that their appearance is nothing more than a frail defence mechanism then you have nothing to fear.

Now, a powerful adult wizard will be able to banish a boggart back to its hiding place, and by the end of your time here I hope that you will all have reached that level of competence. However, for now there is a simple charm that I hope everyone in the class will be able to master by the end of the lesson. Do I have any volunteers?’

No-one stepped forwards, and so Professor Lupin gestured for a pale and trembling Neville Longbottom.

‘Ready?’ He asked, after spending almost a minute whispering into the boy’s ear.

He didn’t wait for his response before stabbing his wand at the wardrobe. The door sprang open and out of the shadows stepped… Professor Snape.

Harry couldn’t repress a grin as some of his classmates began to giggle. Neville, however, looked as though he was about to faint.

‘R…r…r…’ He mumbled, before seeming to steel himself and lifting his wand. ‘Riddikulus!’ He exclaimed, jabbing it.

Professor Snape suddenly stumbled beneath the weight of the enormous vulture-topped hat he was wearing. He snarled as his arm curled itself around the straps of a big brown leather handbag and his swirling robes were replaced by a long, dark green dress that looked older than Hogwarts. Half of the class burst out laughing, and even the professor was wearing something of a grin as he slapped Neville cheerfully on the back and ordered them all to line up.

‘Excellent, Mr Longbottom! Twenty points to Gryffindor! As Neville has just demonstrated, the incantation is Riddikulus! and the technique is laughter! All you need to do is reimagine your fear as something amusing. It helps that there are a lot of us here, so the boggart will struggle to know what form to take.’

Harry could see the truth of his words, for the creature in front of them had disappeared into a swirling mass of colour and energy as soon as Neville had stepped back, sprouting fangs and tentacles and random, spidery limbs.

Professor Lupin chivvied them all into a line to face the boggart one by one, and Harry watched as it resolved itself into a succession of terrifying sights. He could sense the nerves of the students ahead of him, but none seemed to have quite the amount of trouble that Neville had had as they faced down their fears. His own alarm was rising, however, and he fingered his Ollivander wand with suddenly clammy fingers, not quite sure how he’d ended up in this situation.

Eventually, it was his turn. He strengthened his Occlumency barriers as much as he could in his state, having no idea whether it would stop the boggart from reading his mind. The tap-dancing zombie in front of him suddenly fixed his gaze on him.

Harry, suddenly furious, lashed his wand at the creature before it could dissolve and reform. The Banishing hex he threw at it was so powerful that the wardrobe rocked back on its stubby legs as the boggart slammed inside.

Professor Lupin, who had started to step in almost as soon as he’d reached the front of the queue, looked startled.

‘Well done, Mr Flamel! A very strong banishing charm, particularly for a first year.’ He paused, eyeing the wardrobe, before looking regretfully at the half dozen students who’d been standing behind Harry.

‘Unfortunately, I suspect that it will be several hours before our friend recovers from his encounter with Mr Flamel.’ He said. ‘However, I will make sure you all have a chance to face your fears at the beginning of the next class. Now…’ He continued, summoning a pair of house elves and asking them to return the chairs and desks to the room. ‘I will tell you precisely how the mind-reading capabilities of the boggart work…’

He spent the rest of the lesson delivering a surprisingly interesting and detailed lecture. Unfortunately, Harry was still almost vibrating with anger as the bell rang to end the lesson.

‘Yes, Mr Flamel, was there something you wanted to speak to me about?’ Professor Lupin asked curiously as Harry came up to his desk as the rest of the class left.

‘Yes, sir.’ Harry agreed, trying to calm himself. ‘I would like to know why on earth you think it appropriate to force every child in the class to reveal their greatest fear in front of twenty of their schoolmates?’

Professor Lupin looked up from where he’d be sorting his paperwork, startled at both the words and their icy delivery. He tried a smile, but looked slightly nervous.

‘Well…’ he began, pausing, ‘I have found it remarkably effective in my classes to get my students to face their fears as soon as possible. Facing down what frightens us is the only way to ever make it go away, Harry.’ He continued gently, with an expression on his face that made Harry wonder whether this teacher, too, knew who he really was.

‘It is not your philosophy I object to, but rather your methods.’ Harry told him, carefully trained pureblood mask splitting down the middle as his fear-fuelled fury rose once more, hot and sour. ‘How dare you demand that we reveal our fears, our weaknesses before one another. How dare you make us reveal our vulnerabilities. How dare you scare poor Neville shitless.

Professor, most of my class might have left chattering about how wonderful you are, but they do not understand even a fraction of the implications. If any of the influential pureblood families find out what you’re doing to their children, forcing them to reveal, then they will have your head on a plate before you can get out even a single fucking platitude.’

The man sitting in front of him swallowed, eyes wide and scared.

Harry leant in.

‘I believe in equal rights for werewolves.’ He said viciously. ‘But your actions could fuck that up for every single one of your kind in this country.’

He left before the man could respond.

-

Harry went and sat in an empty classroom for the duration of break, meditating silently. Luckily, he was the only one of his new group of friends in the double period of Literature he had immediately afterwards, and so he spent the time sitting quietly at the back of the room, pretending to engage with the teacher’s lecture whilst his mind drifted.

By lunchtime he’d got himself under control, and walked calmly into the Great Hall to join his group at the Ravenclaw table.

‘Where did you go?’ Liram asked curiously as Harry sat down opposite him, swinging his bag beneath the bench.

‘At break? I had something I had to deal with.’

He noticed the slight frowns the others gave him, but couldn’t bring himself to care, or to come up with a genuine excuse.

‘So,’ he continued, plastering on a smile, ‘History of Magic and then Arithmancy for me next.’

It turned out he’d be sharing both classes with Anthony and Blaise, whilst the others all had different schedules.

‘I’ll meet you back in the dorms at the end of classes.’ Harry told Liram as they got up at the end of lunch. The other boy nodded at him agreeably as they went their separate ways.

-

‘Are you sure this guy’s our teacher?’ Harry asked, leaning over to Anthony.

The other boy frowned, looking slightly confused and apparently taking the question far more seriously than it had been intended.

‘I think so.’ He said uncertainly, looking at the robe-clad ghost hovering at the front of the class. Professor Binns had introduced himself, asked them all to be quiet, and launched into a rambling monologue that had begun with the founding of the Ministry of Magic, and meandered off into a remarkably detailed description of a goblin rebellion of the 17th century.

‘I’m not sure this stuff is on the syllabus…’ Blaise said dubiously from Harry’s other side, flicking through the first year textbook.

‘Sir?’

The professor managed to ignore Harry’s raised hand, but when he called out the ghost looked up.

‘Yes… umm… Mr?’

‘Flamel, sir, I was just wondering whether this is what we’re supposed to be learning?’

‘Be learning?’ The ghost repeated querulously.

‘Yes sir. We all find the goblin rebellion of sixteen eighty-five fascinating, of course, but I thought we were supposed to be learning about the foundation of the Ministry?’

‘Yes, yes… the foundation of the Ministry.’ The man repeated, nodding. ‘Very well, Mr…’

‘Flamel, sir.’

‘Yes, yes, exactly. Now… the Ministry of Magic in its infancy was a byproduct of the necessity of enforcing the International Statute of Secrecy passed by the ICW in sixteen seventy-seven…’ and he was off. For about ten minutes his talk was a cogent and eloquent summary of the early years and struggles of the Ministry, before an aside about negotiations with the goblins over the foundation of the London branch of Gringotts diverted him once more into his beloved rebellions.

‘Well, I tried,’ Harry muttered to his friends.

-

‘Nice.’

Harry looked up at Liram’s admiring whistle, and swallowed when he saw the other boy was shirtless, his upper body lean and smooth and tanned.

‘Oh, the broom.’ He said, having taken a moment to realise what Liram was talking about.

‘Yes, the broom.’ His friend replied, grinning. ‘I suppose having a father with a literally unlimited supply of gold helps with the fucking professional equipment…’

‘Your ’98 isn’t too bad.’ Harry protesting, nodding towards the shining mahogany broom on his friend’s bed.

‘No, but it’s like two full generations behind your 2000.’

Harry shrugged. ‘Birthday present. I couldn’t really say “Oh no, dad, I’d much rather have an older, shitter broom just to make it more difficult to wipe the floor with the friends I’m about to make at school.”’

Liram laughed, pulling a t-shirt on, followed by a set of Quidditch pads.

‘Take every advantage you can get, mate, we’re not gonna be selected.’

-

Early Autumn in the Scottish Highlands was much cooler than Harry was used to, and so he was grateful for the expensive warming charms woven into the cloth of his gear as he strode across the grounds next to Liram. They passed through a tunnel beneath the stands to arrive on the immaculately mown grass and raked sand of the pitch.

‘Harry Flamel… and Liram…’

‘Shafiq.’ His friend supplied to the older boy.

‘Shafiq. Of course.’ The boy replied, nodding. ‘Sullivan Fawley.’ He introduced himself, extending a leather-clad hand to shake. ‘Ravenclaw Captain.’ He told them.

They nodded back, and Harry couldn’t help but admire the boy’s tall, clearly well-muscled form. He wasn’t traditionally handsome, perhaps, but his features were strong, and heavy, dark brows gave his face an interesting, intense cast.

‘You’re here for tryouts?’

‘Yes,’ Harry agreed. ‘I know we’re a bit early, but I thought it would be easier to apologise for being first years if we did it before everyone else arrived.’

Sullivan barked out a laugh.

‘Firsties, eh? No need to apologise. I don’t give a shit how old you are, I just need people who can play Quidditch.’

‘That, we can do.’ Harry said confidently.

‘Nice broom, Harry.’

‘Hi Roger.’ Harry greeted the third year as he joined them in the shadow of the stands.

‘Back again, Davies?’ Sullivan asked cheerfully.

‘Back again.’

‘You know, you might be in with a shot this year now that Arthurs and Jameson have left. Ah, here they are…’

The sixth year turned and they watched as the standing team and their reserves came out onto the pitch from the changing rooms, followed by a few people who were presumably trying out.

‘Now!’ Sullivan Fawley roared as soon as the other group had joined them. ‘None of you are safe! If I ask you to give up that uniform, you do it.’ Two of the four current members of the full team looked nervous, whilst the others, a pair of hulking sixth years, seemed unconcerned.

‘All that matters this year is winning. Now, if you’re trying out for Chaser, stand here, Beaters here, Keepers here, and Seekers over there.’

Harry found himself standing next to a whip-thin sixth year who introduced himself as James Waters, and a pretty Chinese fourth year girl called Cho Chang. They were, respectively, the Seeker and the reserve Seeker, and both of them, although friendly enough, eyed him carefully. Two fifth years, whom Harry thought were probably there more for the chance of Quidditch popularity than for any love of the game itself, stood laughing together a few feet away.

Sullivan was the main team’s only remaining Chaser, but Liram stood over with the two reserves, Roger Davies and three others. No one had dared to go up against the two sixth years who were already the team’s Beaters, whilst the current guy and the reserve were the only ones trying out for the Keeper slot.

‘Right. It’s gonna go like this…’ Sullivan began.

The prospective Seekers’ job was the simplest. Twenty training snitches would be released, and whoever caught the most would be on the team, the second most, the reserve. Whilst this was going on, Sullivan would assess the two Keepers and those trying out for the Chaser positions.

-

Fuck, this feels good. Harry thought as he kicked off, the fresh, cold air filling his lungs as he came to hover a couple of hundred of feet up in the air along with the other Seekers. They watched from their positions as the gold flickers darted away from their container, rapidly spreading out and disappearing from sight.

A couple of minutes later and a whistle blew from the ground, the remaining mass of players rising into the air as the Seekers swept into motion, darting off in search of their quarry. Harry stayed where he was, watching the other players go through their drills. It was clear to him after a few minutes that the Keepers would stay as they were; the current guy was good, if not brilliant, and the reserve was too easily bluffed.

Liram could fly, Harry acknowledged to himself, watching his friend dive past the reserve Keeper to score in the left hand goal. Unfortunately, so could all but one of the others. Fawley himself wasn’t brilliant on a broom; his turns weren’t as crisp as Liram’s and a couple of others, but he was clearly experienced and strategic as he rotated through the options, trying to find the pair who would work best with him.

‘Flamel! Get a fucking move on if you want to stand a chance!’ Sullivan roared at him as he flew past. Harry grinned, and pushed his broom into motion. He wasn’t worried, and, in truth, had wanted Sullivan to notice him floating idle. If he’d handicapped himself by a few minutes it made it more difficult for the others to claim he had an unfair advantage because of his broom, or so he’d tried to justify it to himself. In truth, he did have an unfair advantage. He hadn’t made Liram join him several minutes early to escape awkwardness, but rather to be close to the ball chest for the time he needed to be able to magically tag its contents. He almost regretted cheating, but, really, there were far too many variables in play for him to be certain of winning the position fairly, even if he was the best.

He followed the strands of his magic, enjoying the exhilarating feeling of chasing after the tiny, constantly darting objects, rolling out of the way of the Bludgers that occasionally hurled themselves in his direction. He swore to himself as he briefly found himself chasing after Cho, and presumably one of the Snitches she’d already caught. When he saw an opportunity, he dived through the centre of an attacking formation, flying so close to one of the girls trying out for Chaser that she nearly fell off her broom, and dropped the Quaffle in the process. He grinned as he saw Liram sweep beneath the two of them, snatching the ball out of the air as Harry span off in the direction of another Snitch.

Twenty minutes later and apparently Sullivan had seen enough, blowing his whistle loudly enough to send a flock of crows from their perches atop one of the Hufflepuff-draped towers in the stands.

‘Right.’ The Ravenclaw Captain said as soon as they’d all gathered round him. ‘I’ve made my decisions. Would you like to hear them now, or have me put the names up on the board in the common room?’

‘Just tell us.’ One of the Beaters said.

Sullivan rolled his eyes at him.

‘Well, obviously you and Brayden are staying, Ethan.’ He paused. ‘As for Keepers, you two are staying as you are.’ The boys nodded, apparently having expected as much. ‘Chasers; Myrellie and Jacob, you’re promoted.’ The pretty blonde girl and the tanned, attractive fifth year guy who’d been the previous year’s reserves fist-bumped, eye-fucking one another. ‘Liram; First reserve. Davies; Second.’ Harry exchanged a grin with his friend, who looked as though he could barely believe his luck.

‘Now… Seeker.’ Sullivan turned to the five of them. Harry eyed his competition. James and Cho were looking at one another, frowning. The two fifth years were grinning.

‘Well, show me what you’ve got.’

The fifth years extended their hands, one had a single snitch, and the other had managed to catch two. Harry raised an eyebrow, impressed that they’d managed to get anything at all. Cho reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out four. James looked slightly upset as he held out three Snitches, one of which still had its slightly crumpled wings extended.

Sullivan nodded at them.

‘Not bad, for the time you had. Nothing from you, Flamel? Not to worry; come back next year and give it another go. I saw you fly, and I know it wasn’t just that sexy broom of yours that was throwing those shapes.’

Harry grinned at him and reached both his hands into the pockets of his training jacket.

‘Still want me to wait until next year?’ He asked, extending the remaining ten snitches to dumfounded looks from everyone standing watching.

‘Umm…’ Sullivan began. ‘Well, it looks like you’re on the team.’ He said, recovering. ‘Cho, you’re the reserve again. James, Austin, Stephen, I’m sorry guys. Right, Full Team and Reserves, stay, the rest of you can go.

The rejected players walked off, shoulders low.

‘Training schedule. I want to win the cup this year, so I’m adding Wednesday lunchtime to our usual sessions after school on Monday and Friday, which, for the new players, run from half five until eight. Reserve team only needs to come to the evening sessions’

Harry kept his expression blank; he’d known that Quidditch would be a significant time commitment, though hearing the precise schedule was still something of a shock. The two Beaters frowned and muttered to one another, though, until quelled by a vicious glare from Sullivan.

‘So, I will see you all in the changing rooms at quarter past five on Friday.’

‘But you said half past…’

‘I said quarter past, Mr Davies, or aren’t you joining us?’

Roger shut up, and followed the other new players silently back towards the castle.

-

‘More bloody Arithmancy!’ Daphne exclaimed, her normally frozen mask thrown to one side as she picked unenthusiastically at her breakfast. She, Harry and Tracey had all shared their first class the afternoon before, and now had a double period of it to face immediately after breakfast.

‘I know.’ Tracey moaned. ‘If the bitch gave us homework last night to have in for this morning, just imagine how much she’ll set us when we’ve got a week to do it…’

‘It’s not that hard.’ Harry protested, pouring honey into his yogurt.

‘Well, we can’t all be geniuses.’ Daphne snapped at him.

Harry almost flinched back at the harshness of her tone, regretting his comment even as he tried to analyse her response.

‘You know…’ he began slowly, ‘I’m very happy to try and help with homework, and in class as well, if Professor Vector doesn’t smack me with her ruler.’

Tracey giggled. Professor Vector was apparently notorious for carrying a ruler with her as she swept around her classroom, rubbing it in a manner that a lot of the boys seemed to find erotic.

‘I think if she does that she might be trying to tell you that she likes you.’

Harry chuckled at Tracey’s comment, but his mirth died down as he saw Daphne was still glaring from her position next to him.

‘Hey…’ He said lowly to her as soon as all the others were reasonably distracted, ‘is there something wrong?’

She sat up immediately, an imperious expression settling over her features.

‘Of course not,’ she scoffed.

Harry nodded, still feeling slightly guilty, and not comfortable enough to press the situation.

-

The day passed slowly for Harry; the lessons were easy and he was impatient for the duelling class that afternoon. He told himself that it was because he was eager to test his skills… to see what Hogwarts’ best had to offer, but the image of a certain blond third year refused to drift far from his thoughts as he sat through an hour of Economics at the end of the day.

He arrived in the Great Hall at half past five to find the tables and benches stacked up against the walls, and half a dozen duelling strips drawn in chalk onto the stone floor. He went over to where Professor Flitwick was standing at the top of the steps leading to the head table’s dais, though he was still barely the height of a couple of the dozen or so students already grouped in front of him.

‘Ah, Mr Flamel, welcome, welcome!’ He called cheerfully as soon as he spotted him.

‘Flamel?’ One of the older students asked dubiously. ‘You’re a first year, right?’

Harry grinned at him, giving a nod to a boy he recognised as one of the Ravenclaw team Beaters.

‘Yes. I spoke to the professor about joining this class, and he was kind enough to let me in.’

The tall brown-haired boy turned to look at Flitwick as though he’d gone mad.

‘You’ve let a first year join us?’ He asked, incredulous.

‘He’s good, Rowle, trust me.’

Harry turned towards the calm, smooth voice and felt a warm glow in his stomach at the idea of Cedric defending him, which was rapidly thrust to one side by his indignance at the notion of needing anyone for protection. The blond god walked over to join them, accompanied by a couple of boys who looked about his age.

‘Diggory.’ The boy called Rowle said, with what sounded like grudging respect. ‘I see the professor’s finally let you in with the big boys.’

‘Really, Paxton, you think I’m one of the boys?’

Harry grinned as a tall, bulky girl with a flat chest and an unfortunately prominent nose asked the suddenly flushed sixth year.

‘Not at all, Alicia.’ He said, suddenly polite.

‘Now, now, please settle down.’ Professor Flitwick said, interjecting at last. ‘And welcome to our new faces. Misses Portendorfer, Mr Harred, Mr Raynott, Mr Diggory, Mr Flamel, I’m glad to see you all here.’

Harry assumed that Harred and Raynott were the two who’d come in with Cedric, and presumed that, like the blonde twins who’d smiled as Flitwick greeted them, they were fourth years who’d managed to graduate into the Advanced Class by the more usual route. The fact that there were only sixteen students in total when Harry quickly tallied them up suggested to him that the first three years of Flitwick’s tuition left the vast majority of Hogwarts’ budding duellists behind.

‘Now,’ Flitwick began, ‘I would like us to use this session to focus on spell deflection. I’m sure you all know what a valuable skill it is, but are also aware of the extreme difficulty of performing it effectively.’

Harry narrowed his eyes at the professor, an inkling of what the man was trying to do dawning on him. Flitwick winked at him before continuing, drawing his wand to conjure a blackboard.

‘Now, as you will all know, spell deflection functions as a complex variation of the Protego charm.’ He flicked his wand to scrawl a couple of formulae on the board. ‘Now, technically, spell deflection takes much less energy than maintaining a shield, for it only needs to last long enough to come into contact with its target, and possess enough energy to change its direction, rather than absorb it. Now, beyond this its complexities multiply. It must be cast nonverbally, for there is no time to speak. It must be aimed with extraordinary precision, or else it will miss its target, or even angle a poorly aimed spell back towards you. I take it that you’re all familiar with at least attempting to cast it?’

Everyone nodded, although Harry noticed a couple of the older students looking at him dubiously.

‘Excellent, do I have any volunteers?’

Harry stepped forwards, assuming that was what Flitwick wanted.

‘You?’ Paxton Rowle said, his tone once more incredulous.

‘Me.’ Harry agreed impassively.

‘I’ll join you.’ The big girl who’d shut Paxton up earlier stepped up before he could speak again.

‘Good.’ Professor Flitwick said approvingly. ‘Now, if the two of you would like to to take up your positions…’ He continued, indicating the marked-out strip closest to the dais.

Harry stood sixty feet away from a girl who was probably six inches taller than him, and at least fifty pounds heavier. She’d dropped immediately into an immaculate, aggressive stance, wand raised, ready to lash forwards.

‘Alicia, you will be demonstrating deflection first, as the elder, more experienced duellist. Harry, I would be obliged if you would stick to stunning spells for the moment. This is just a demonstration.’

Harry nodded, not taking his eyes off the girl as she lowered her wand into a more defensive position and tried to conceal her annoyance.

‘On three.’ Professor Flitwick counted down, and as soon as he hit one Harry launched a trio of silent stunners at the girl, who jerked back in surprise. She managed to deflect the first one, although the shield she threw out was too large and almost powerful enough to just absorb the spell. The second and third she had to fling up an ordinary Protego to defend against.

‘Not bad.’ Professor Flitwick called. ‘Now, your turn Mr Flamel.’

Harry readied himself and the girl looked at him, frowning slightly as she raised her wand. He was convinced that the professor hadn’t even started to say ‘One’ when a positive hail of Stunners erupted from her wand, some of them a brilliant red, others a pink so faded they were almost invisible in the brightly lit hall.

She watched, jaw tightly clenched as his wand danced and span, throwing out a dozen pale disks of magic no larger than the size of a side plate that flung themselves into the path of the onrush.

‘Marvellous, simple marvellous.’ Professor Flitwick exclaimed, clapping and beaming as the last few stunners scattered into the walls and floor and the group of students around him started muttering and staring at Harry. ‘Mr Flamel, would you be kind enough to explain your particular technique.’

Harry frowned slightly, reluctant to give too much information away.

‘Well,’ he began, trying to work out what to say. ‘I find that when it’s necessary to deflect a large number of spells very quickly, then it’s possible to cast say, three shields, and then split them further once they’re already in the air, which also helps with directing them more precisely.’

Professor Flitwick looked at him curiously.

‘Unusual. How do you split the spells once they’ve already been cast?’

Harry felt backed into a corner.

‘I’d prefer not to say, if that’s okay, sir. I’d just rather not give away the secrets of the person who taught it to me.’

Flitwick nodded briskly. ‘Of course, of course.’ He smiled. ‘I will have to give the matter some thought, then, and see if I can work it out on my own… some complex variation of Diffindo, perhaps… but no, that wouldn’t take the required elasticity into account.’

Harry kept his face carefully blank as he noticed Professor Flitwick eyeing him for any tells as he contemplated aloud.

‘Right. Now, sort yourselves into pairs and we’ll begin to practise. If you feel less comfortable, then I suggest that you begin with non-verbal Protegos, moving them around, and holding them up for the shortest amount of time possible.’

Harry realised after two or three seconds that everyone in the class knew one another, and all had their accustomed partners. All except for…

‘Hi. Looks like we’re together, then.’ Cedric said brightly, striding over to him.

Harry tried to smile back, though he couldn't help but notice that the boy looked even more attractive in his tight black duelling gear than he did in his school uniform.

‘Well, let’s hope a first year can keep up with one of the “big boys”,’ he replied, mocking Rowle’s earlier greeting.

Cedric let out an easy laugh.

‘You’ve just humiliated the pride of Hogwarts.’ He told him, grinning. ‘I think showing up Alicia Carrow on the strip automatically makes you one of the big boys, first year or not. I’m glad I’m training with the only one in the room, apart from you, of course, professor’ he said hastily as Flitwick joined them, ‘who actually has spell deflection properly down.’

‘Indeed you should be, Mr Diggory, and I’m sure Mr Flamel will be delighted to hone his Transfiguration under your eye. We all help one another in my Advanced Class.’ He declared, before looking inquisitively at Harry. ‘You don’t happen to want to tell me the name of your previous instructor, do you, Mr Flamel?’

Harry smiled.

‘I would rather not, professor, if it’s all the same to you.’

Flitwick nodded with mock sadness before moving away.

‘So many secrets, Mr Flamel…’ Cedric said teasingly, with another heart-stopping smile.

‘Secrets?’ Harry repeated playfully, unable to maintain the reserve he’d promised himself he’d keep whilst at Hogwarts.

‘Son of the mighty alchemist. Already finding his classes too easy, if the rumours are true. Clearly a competition-level duellist. And even my rival Seeker on the Ravenclaw team…’

Harry, barely avoiding a blush at the compliments, seized on the last statement.

‘You’re Hufflepuff’s Seeker?’

‘I am.’ Cedric agreed.

And I thought you couldn’t get any more attractive.


	6. Camping in the Forest

‘No run this morning?’

Harry silently cursed his luck as he reached over to grab his school robe from a hanger and shrugged it on. He’d been careful to dress as quietly as possible when he rose, ever since he’d managed to wake Liram during their first morning in the dormitory, and had been able to escape without notice the rest of the week. Of course, it would be the morning of his meeting with Dumbledore that his friend chose to stir again.

‘No.’ He replied, smiling. ‘I’ve got something else to do.’

Liram frowned at him for a moment, before nodding silently and retreating back behind his bed curtains.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and set off for the headmaster’s office, enjoying the silence as he walked through the long, deserted corridors.

‘Toxic Waste.’

The gargoyle slowly stood from its crouch and began turning atop the rising stairway.

‘Do come in, Harry.’ Came a cheery voice before he even had a chance to knock the gleaming door.

He pushed against the door and stepped into the room, which looked exactly as he remembered; save that the twinkling headmaster was draped in pale green silk this morning.

‘Please, have a seat.’

Harry nodded, and sat himself in front of the breakfast table, the smell of the food making him feel desperately hungry in spite of the early hour.

‘Thank you, sir.’ He said respectfully.

The headmaster smiled gently, and began spreading what looked like marmite over a croissant. They sat together, eating in silence for a few minutes, before Harry felt he should say something.

‘Can I ask what we’ll be doing today, sir?’

Dumbledore eyed him carefully before nodding.

‘Of course. I will let you into a little secret, Harry.’ He began conspiratorially. ‘I wanted to wait until Friday for our first meeting so that I would have occasion to speak to some of your professors about your work… oh, don’t worry, don’t worry; I was circumspect.’ He promised, correctly reading into Harry’s frown that he was concerned about drawing attention from teachers who weren’t supposed to be aware of his identity.

‘And what did they tell you about me?’ Harry asked, half annoyed and half curious.

‘Many things, many things.’ Professor Dumbledore replied irritatingly, as he pretended to be distracted brushing some crumbs from his beard.

‘But of course, you wanted to know what we would be talking about today.’ Dumbledore continued after another mouthful. ‘I thought we could begin with a discussion of Light and Dark magic.’ He said cheerfully.

Harry nodded politely, curious.

Professor Dumbledore slid his plate to one side and drew his teacup to sit in front of him before steepling his fingers above it.

‘I suspect, having grown up with Nicholas and Perenelle, that you are already well familiar with some of the natural divisions in this substance we wizards call magic.’ He began contemplatively. ‘The most obvious of which is, of course, that between the Light and the Dark. A great many theories about the substance of magic have been put forwards over the years, and I do not intend to discuss in any detail the merits of the various cases, cases which, I personally suspect, will never completely be resolved. Instead, perhaps, it is simplest for our purposes to think of magic simply as a form of energy possessed of certain characteristics. As an active force and, in some ways, an almost sentient entity.

Since the earliest wizards first put down their stone tools and began to shape the world with the energy they found that they, and they alone, could control, there has been a rough divide, a divide in the nature of magic that has only deepened through the millennia. Magic, like anything with sentience, or some approximation of it, has conflicting desires. There was a muggle scientist once, who explained it rather well, albeit unknowingly, when he wrote that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. In the world, in the very substance of creation, there must always be a kind of balance between forces, for too strong a pull in one direction is almost inevitably catastrophic. Magic, you see, can only be balanced out by itself; it is too powerful to be restrained by anything else. Magic gave itself into the hands of witches and wizards, but as a self-regulating force; for which we should all be thankful.’

Harry nodded. The ancient man was describing things he knew, but he had such a calm, compelling voice that it was hard not to be fascinated.

‘Various pressures,’ Professor Dumbledore continued, ‘have contributed to deepening this division of magic through the centuries, as magical folk discovered that they could penetrate further into the nature of magic by dedicating themselves exclusively to one of its sides; that they could become more powerful than those who refused to commit themselves and attempted to walk a balanced path. Eventually, by the time of the Roman Empire you had magical people declaring their allegiance, as it were. You see, by devoting yourself, committing yourself, to Dark magic, or to Light magic, people began to notice that they seemed to gain its favour. It not only made them more powerful, but became a drug to them, intoxicating them, turning them against those who had not chosen their side.

And so, conflict bred and deepened, and Rome fell. Now, of course, we know the dangers of intolerance, and have suffered great losses in the process, but our dedication to our sides has never wavered, for we all seek power and knowledge, and we cannot follow both paths.’

Harry inclined his head again, sipping his orange juice.

‘In this country it is, alas, a particularly deep division. Magic has always appeared to be particularly fond of Britain and its people, and so, in addition to supporting a larger magical population than any other country, we have a society characterised by particularly powerful bloodlines which entrench their dedications in order to perpetuate their strength.’

‘Which is why Britain has tended to be one of the less… peaceful countries in the magical world.’

Dumbledore inclined his head this time.

‘Just so. And that brings us rather neatly onto Lords by Magic.’

Harry couldn’t help but sit up a little, bearing in mind both what he’d been told of the prophecy, and that the man in front of him was one of perhaps a dozen publicly identified Lords by Magic in the entire world.

‘Britain has a particular propensity for breeding us, I fear.’ The headmaster continued. ‘And this creates a twofold problem, you see. Power tends to corrupt even the best of us, and there is no headier strength than the blessings given by Magic. When a witch or wizard of sufficient strength to assert themself a Lord, or Lady, by Magic, declares for the Light or the Dark, then a spark within them takes light and grows, builds within them a desire for knowledge, for power and strength and conquest and domination, for all of the things that have started so very many wars.’

Harry wasn’t sure what to say. This was certainly not information he knew, in fact, he thought it was probably information almost no-one knew

‘I myself have fought against these inclinations for more than a century.’ Dumbledore admitted calmly, taking a small bite of shortbread. ‘And I hope to be able to claim that I have been more successful than most in restraining myself; hope that in the battles I have fought I have never been the aggressor.’

Harry was taken aback in spite of himself; Professor Dumbledore was being remarkably, even discomfortingly, open with him.

‘I fought against Grindelwald when he sought domination for himself and for the Dark, and I fought against Voldemort when he crusaded for the same.’ He paused. ‘You see, it is my cross to bear, in a way, for magic will always seek a balance; and as a declared Light Lord by Magic the only counterbalance to me is an equal devoted to the Dark. And yet, my opposite numbers have always been corrupted to the point of war.’

‘So, are Lords by Magic a good thing, sir?’ Harry asked, slightly surprised by his own temerity.

The headmaster chuckled, however.

‘Perhaps, perhaps not.’ He replied. ‘Certainly the world might be simpler without us, but equally, there are many instances of Lords by Magic achieving remarkable things that have come to benefit all of us. These issues, I fear, are complex; but when magic has given no indication of stopping blessing certain of its children with inordinate strength, then there is little we can do but make the best of the situations we are given.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Harry replied, hiding his uncertainty as his mind whirled.

The twinkling gaze Dumbledore fixed on him seemed uncomfortably penetrating, though, as he dismissed Harry to his first class.

-

The day, after that, seemed to go by particularly slowly. Harry sat patiently through a single period of World Studies where the professor attempted to describe the magic behind making land Unplottable, a single period of Potions where Professor Snape seemed to be in a particularly ill-temper as he swept up and down the rows delivering his lecture, and then endured a double period of Magical Theory where a Daphne who still didn’t seem quite her usual self sat next to him and muttered irritably about the simplicity of the work.

At least Defence Against the Dark Arts proved more interesting, as Professor Lupin looked slightly nervously at Harry as he came in before apologising for the absence of boggart to those who’d missed out on facing it the last time, and delivered a comparatively muted talk and examination of the still dazed-looking Grindylows floating in the swampy water of their tank.

‘Mr Flamel, could you stay behind a moment, please?’

‘Professor… I’ve got Quidditch training now.’ Harry tried to object, not really wanting to talk to the man after their last conversation.

‘This won’t take a minute.’ Professor Lupin promised calmly, watching the last few of Harry’s classmates leave the room safely.

He came over to where Harry was standing behind his desk, bag over one shoulder.

‘I should apologise for our last lesson. It’s one I’ve given for several years now without a problem, but I appreciate that it could cause… problems.’ He finished, slightly uncomfortably. ‘I would like to thank you for raising you concerns, although I would appreciate it if, in future, you could phrase them more civilly.’

Harry nodded at the unexpected apology, suddenly feeling a little guilty himself.

‘Yes, sir, and thank you.’ He said politely, before leaving hastily.

-

‘You ready?’

Harry looked at Liram’s grinning face and smirked back.

‘Always.’

Liram had waited outside the classroom for Harry, and they made their way down to the entrance hall together before walking out across the grounds to the changing rooms built into the bottom of the Quidditch stadium’s stands.

‘Bang on time, good.’ Sullivan Fawley said, nodding approvingly as they came in.

Harry attempted to keep his gaze averted from all the smooth skin and muscular flesh on display as the team and reserves changed around him, focusing on pulling his own gear from the locker that now bore his name.

‘Where are Brayden and Ethan?’ Fawley asked no one in particular, slapping his gloves irritably against his thigh. ‘Come in!’ He barked when a polite knock came at the door, and the team’s one female player entered, fully dressed in her blue and bronze training kit and looking around curiously.

‘Sorry we’re late, boss; Flitwick overran.’

Fawley eyed the two Beaters impassively as they came in a few moments behind her, looking flushed but not particularly guilty. The slightly stockier one, who Harry thought was Ethan, had been the one to speak, and was also the one to notice the girl in their midst.

‘Hey, beautiful,’ he said, whistling admiringly at Myrellie as he stripped off his shirt and tie and looked at her suggestively. ‘You’ve arrived just in time for the show.’

She looked at him, apparently unimpressed, as he stepped out of his trousers and rotated his boxer-clad waist suggestively.

‘Back off, Fernsby.’ Jacob, the other new Chaser, who Harry assumed was dating Myrellie, said coolly.

‘No need to get defensive, Allington.’ Ethan mocked, before rubbing himself obscenely. ‘We can’t all be packing what I’ve got.’

‘Genital warts, wasn’t it?’ Myrellie remarked lightly, eyeing the boy’s crotch with apparent distaste. ‘At least… that was the rumour I heard last year.’

The boy flushed as the team laughed.

‘Right!’ Fawley exclaimed, calling them to order. ‘First practise of the year, and with lots of new faces. Our first match is against Gryffindor just before the end of term, and we’ll be drilling hard to be ready for them. They’ve lost Oliver Wood, and they’re going to be struggling…’ He spoke for a couple more minutes before he went over to a blackboard stuck to the locker room wall and started to draw diagrams. They spent almost an hour staring at his scrawlings and listening to his lecture, and it wasn’t until Fawley was convinced that every player in the room had memorised the tactics they would be rehearsing that he led them out onto the pitch.

-

‘Well, that was fun,’ Harry commented lightly to Liram as they made their way back up to the castle, having changed into casual clothes now that they were free for the weekend.

‘It was exhausting.’ His friend moaned, even though Fawley had put the reserves through a shorter series of simpler plays than the full team had had to endure.

‘We’ll get used to it.’ Harry said reassuringly, playing down his own exhilaration.

-

‘Flamel.’

‘Hi Zacharias, but, please, call me Harry.’ Harry said, plastering on a smile and enjoying the flicker of irritation that crossed the other boy’s face.

‘Harry.’ Smith repeated after moment. ‘Do you have any idea what we’re doing?’

‘Not a clue.’ Harry replied cheerfully, glancing round the empty entrance hall. Professor McGonagall’s note had merely told them to be there at half past eight on Saturday.

Shit. Harry thought to himself when he heard a faint meow from behind him. Only one cat at Hogwarts was allowed to roam the school freely after the dinner hour.

‘You two, come wiv me.’

Argus Filch, Hogwarts’ ancient caretaker, was as grimy as his school was clean. He fixed the pair of them with a terrifying, wild-eyed stare before grunting and stomping off towards the main doors.

They followed obediently, and Harry quickly became grateful that he’d grabbed a warm jacket and pair of gloves as they stepped out into the frigid evening and set off across the grounds in the direction of Hagrid’s enormous hut.

‘What are we doing?’ Zacharias asked, sounding slightly on-edge.

Filch chuckled.

‘Yer going to be spending the night in the Forbidden Forest.’ He told them with an entirely evil expression.

‘But we’re not allowed to go there…’ Zacharias said, sounding both arrogant and uncertain.

‘Hagrid will keep ye safe.’ Filch told them, smirking in a way that gave obvious lie to his words.

‘Alright boys?’

‘For now.’ Harry replied to the bearded giant’s greeting, rotating his wrist to feel the reassuring press of his wand against his forearm.

Hagrid didn’t seem to appreciate the comment, and just beamed down at the two of them, yanking back the massive boar hound he was holding on a leash as the creature tried to lurch towards them. Harry couldn’t help but follow Zacharias’ glance back for a moment, watching the warm light of Filch’s lantern drift back towards the safety of the castle.

‘So…’ Harry began, trying to make the best of a bad situation. ‘What are we doing tonight?’

‘Well I’m just doing me normal round of the forest.’ Hagrid told them. ‘I go out a couple of times a week just so I know it’s all under control.’

‘Under control.’ Zacharias repeated dubiously, eyeing the nearby stretch of forest as though he expected a mob of bloodthirsty vampires to suddenly charge out of the trees.

Hagrid nodded.

‘Yep. We’ve got centaurs and unicorns and acromantulas and hippogriffs and the only herd of thestrals in the whole of Britain.’ Hagrid told them proudly.

‘Acromantulas.’ Zacharias echoed, what little colour his face had held suddenly draining.

‘How long is this going to take, Hagrid?’ Harry asked, wanting to lose sleep almost as little as he wanted to be attacked by a spider the size of a horse.

‘Couple of hours or so.’ The man replied, beaming happily as he turned and stomped off.

Harry couldn’t help but flick his wand into his hand as they stepped beneath the collective shadow of the great, gnarled trees. It seemed even colder in the forest than it had been out on the grass, and Harry could feel the automatic warming charms on his clothing strengthening their protection against the chill. The path Hagrid was leading them down was winding and snarled frequently with roots, barely wide enough for the huge man to go down.

‘Do we have to do this at night?’ Zacharias asked from his position walking next to Harry.

‘Of course.’ Hagrid said. ‘Most of the creatures in the forest aren’t really active in the day, ye see, so if we want to talk to them we have to come out at night.’

‘Talk to them… talk to them…’ Harry heard Zacharias muttering incredulously under his breath, the other boy’s attention firmly on the ground beneath his feet as he focused on not tripping over. Harry had taken the opportunity to cast a spell that would give light only to himself, the tip of his wand emitting a soft red glow that wouldn’t inhibit his night vision too much.

‘Look there!’ Hagrid exclaimed suddenly in a whisper that was louder than most people’s speaking voice, stopping so suddenly that the two students following him almost ran into his broad back. They peered around the groundskeeper, and Harry’s breath caught in his throat at the sight in the small, moonlit clearing they found themselves standing at the edge of. A great male unicorn, at least eighteen hands high, gleamed with an unearthly glow in the pale light as he took a drink from the waters of a narrow stream. Even Professor Dumbledore’s phoenix would look a little wan besides such magnificence, Harry couldn’t help but think as he stood there, barely daring to breathe lest the creature leave them. He needn’t have worried though, for after a brief, still moment Hagrid’s hound barked loudly. The stallion raised its huge, white head and looked straight at them through large dark eyes before tossing its mane and trotting slowly off.

‘Fang!’ Hagrid reprimanded his pet as soon as the unicorn had left them, its shining hide quickly disappearing into the trees. The dog seemed unrepentant, barking briefly once more, before dragging his owner off across the abandoned clearing.

They followed Hagrid in silence for the next half hour, stepping carefully as he led them quietly through another, much larger clearing full of sleeping hippogriffs. Harry was amused to note that Fang, too, seemed to know better than to rouse any of the proud creatures. The trees were pressing ever-thicker around them, though, and the slanting beams of light reflecting from the almost full moon began to be filtered out by the knotted branches sprouting from the ancient trunks around them.

‘This is the deep forest now.’ Hagrid told them reverently, his breath beginning to mist in the air in front of him. ‘It’s only me that comes here from the castle, nowadays. Even Professor Grubbly-Plank won’t come too far. Worried she’ll get lost.’

Harry couldn’t blame her, for he’d only managed to keep a very general sense of the direction they’d been travelling in as they followed the meandering track.

‘Here we are!’ Hagrid told them happily, coming to a halt in front of a tree whose trunk must have been as wide as Hogwarts’ entrance hall.

Harry looked at the great, black cavern at the base of its trunk that Hagrid was beaming into and tightened his grip on his wand as Zacharias glanced nervously at the groundskeeper.

A tense silence settled over the group as they waited, before eventually a low whine became audible, growing slowly in volume. Harry could hear the leaves on the forest floor start to rustle all around them, and swallowed as he saw big, dark, many-legged shapes begin to descend smoothly from the canopy above.

‘Fuck.’ Zacharias muttered, and Harry couldn’t help but agree as a spider that must easily have weighed as much as the unicorn they’d seen earlier emerged from its burrow. Eight gleaming black eyes, each as wide as Harry’s outspread hand, fixed on Hagrid.

‘My friend.’

Harry had read somewhere that acromantulas had been known, on occasion, to learn to talk in human tongues, but hearing that great, hairy, crouching mass speak with a man’s voice was still something of a shock.

‘’Ello Aragog’ Hagrid said cheerfully. ‘’Ow’s it going with you?’

‘I am well, Hagrid.’ The immense spider said slowly. ‘Are these humans you bring to be food for my children?’

Harry half raised his wand as he swallowed nervously, not really sure how he was going to defend himself against the onslaught of the thousands upon thousands of spiders he could sense rustling in the shadowed forest around them.

‘No, no.’ Hagrid said hastily. ‘They’re students from the school just coming on me round with me this evening.’

Gleaming pincers the size of machete blades clicked with irritation at that, but the spider seemed to accept Hagrid’s assertion.

‘I will warn you, Hagrid, that the disturbance in the forest continues.’ The spider declared, before turning and dragging itself heavily away.

Harry glanced up at the groundskeeper and noted his suddenly grim expression.

‘Well, we’d best be getting on.’ He said gruffly, before stomping off, pulling Fang after him. Zacharias seemed almost to be shaking as he hastened after the reassuringly solid figure, Harry taking up the rear as he looked warily around at the hundreds of massive spiders now scuttling away into the darkness.

‘Hagrid?’ Harry asked after a few minutes. ‘What did… Aragog… mean about a disturbance?’ He hoped he’d heard the spider’s name correctly.

‘Oh, nuffink for you to worry yourself about.’ Hagrid said, though Harry noticed that his tone wasn't quite as reassuring as it had been previously, and that their pace had picked up considerably.

Harry jerked slightly with nervous surprise as Zacharias stumbled next to him, the other boy barely keeping his feet as he tripped over a root and cursed softly. The light of the moon was a bare few fingers of light clawing down through the trees by now, and the path was becoming increasingly treacherous. Fang was sniffing about and snuffling uncertainly as he scouted ahead, running back to his master frequently for reassurance. A sudden whine from the massive boar hound had Harry gripping his Ollivander wand more tightly, and begin to regret having accepted Zacharias’ challenge.

‘Well bugger me!’

Hagrid’s sudden, booming exclamation seemed so odd that Harry couldn’t help but let out a sudden snort of nervous laughter before he edged forwards to see what had prompted the giant man’s cry.

A narrow stream curled through the forest just in front of them, and on its far side stood a tent. It seemed a perfectly ordinary construction of greying canvas, neatly pegged-out on a small expanse of flat ground. There was no sign of life, and so the three humans and Fang stood in silence for a few seconds, staring at the bizarre sight.

‘Well, had best take a look.’ Hagrid mumbled eventually, crossing the stream in a single stride and slapping a massive hand against the tied-shut entrance.

‘’Ello!’ He shouted. ‘Anyone home?’

Harry rolled his eyes at the approach, aiming his wand at the tent’s opening as he joined the groundskeeper.

There was no response.

‘Do we look inside?’ Zacharias asked uncertainly.

Hagrid stood frowning as Fang sniffed his way around the outside of the tent.

‘Best not.’ He decided eventually. ‘I dunno about anyone camping in the forest, but it might be that they’re allowed and I don’t want to trespass when it ain’t none of my business. I’ll make me report to Professor Dumbledore.’

Harry was only too glad to nod along with the decision. The tent gave him something of an ill-feeling, and he was eager to return to the warmth and relative security of the castle.

Hagrid tried calling out again, and banged on the tent’s canvas roof before they set off, following the bank of the stream in a lazy curve that led them eventually back to beneath the thinning canopy at the forest’s edge.

‘I’d best be coming with you.’ Hagrid told them as Hogwarts’ torchlit splendour came into view on its bluff. ‘Need to speak to Dumbledore.’

‘But it’s gone midnight…’ Harry pointed out, glancing at his watch. He’d decided he wanted to probe the situation. ‘Can’t it wait until breakfast?’

‘Best let ‘im know now.’ Hagrid said, stumping up the broad path through the castle grounds.

-

Hagrid had dismissed Zacharias and himself to bed as soon as they’d reached the entrance hall, and so Harry made his way up to the Ravenclaw dormitories still full of questions.

‘How was it?’

Harry looked up with surprise at the whispered question, half undressed for bed as he turned to see Liram looking at him curiously.

‘You waited up for me?’ He asked, amused to see the other boy look slightly embarrassed.

‘In fairness, I didn’t expect you to be back so late.’ Liram attempted to defend himself.

Harry nodded.

‘Nor did I. It was… interesting, I suppose.’ He proceeded to recount his adventure to his friend, who sat listening wide-eyed.

‘They actually sent you out into the forest?’ Liram asked incredulously, shuddering at Harry’s description of the acromantula colony.

‘Yeah. I don’t know whose idea it was, but I suppose it’s not a bad way if discouraging students from breaking the rules.’

Liram snorted.

‘Kind of ironic that your punishment for breaking the rules is getting to break like the ultimate school rule and go into the Forbidden Forest at night.’

‘Exactly. Not sure Zacharias is thinking of it that way, though.’

Liram smirked.

‘He was scared?’

‘Practically shaking.’ Harry felt a little guilty for mocking the other boy’s obvious discomfort, but it was hard not to when he was so insufferably arrogant the rest of the time.

‘Well, I suppose we should get to bed.’ Liram said after they’d spent a few more minutes discussing the evening's events.

Harry nodded and stripped down to the underwear he slept in before slipping beneath his covers, settling himself and absentmindedly beginning to stroke the cat that had leapt up to curl against his side. He couldn’t seem to get back to sleep, the rush of adrenaline brought on by his walk in the forest still humming in his veins. His mind wouldn’t stop turning over the events of the evening, jerking from the massive, flashing pincers of the enormous spider to the terrified look on Zacharias’ face when he spotted one of its children dangling from a web a few feet above his head. But his thoughts always returned to that tent, and the sense of dread it had instilled in him as he approached. He couldn’t be certain what had caused his instinctive response, what had brought his magic snarling up defensively against his will, but he’d only experienced a similar sensation a few times before in his life. All of those occasions had been when Perenelle was using Blood Magic.


	7. Escaping Hogwarts

‘Welcome home, Harry.’

Harry grinned at Perenelle, stepping into his guardian’s embrace.

‘Waiting for me?’

She chuckled softly and released him.

‘You said that you would join us at eight, and so here I am.’ She said, leading him from the arrivals pavilion and down the steps to the villa. ‘So, how was your first week at school?’

Harry gathered himself, slightly touched that she’d come up to wait for him, and was asking the question he imagined a real parent would pose their own child.

‘Not bad.’ He replied. ‘Though I’ve already earned a detention.’

‘Really?’ She asked, not sounding remotely surprised. ‘Dare I ask for what?’

‘Flying without a licence.’ Harry replied, shrugging unrepentantly.

‘I should have guessed.’ Perenelle sighed. ‘Have they confiscated your broom?’

Harry looked at her innocently.

‘Why would they confiscate the broom of the Seeker of the Ravenclaw House Quidditch Team?’

His guardian stared at him.

‘You haven’t?’ She asked, sounding faintly appalled.

Harry tried to keep a straight face. Perenelle had a dislike of all things broom-related, and a horror of Quidditch.

‘Youngest Seeker in a century.’

‘Of course you are.’ Perenelle muttered as they stepped through the open French doors that ran the length of the villa’s western face.

‘Where’s Nicholas?’ Harry asked curiously after he’d greeted the delighted house elf that met them, and who popped away disappointedly when he saw that Harry hadn’t brought any luggage back with him.

Perenelle gestured carelessly.

‘Oh, somewhere about. Perhaps in the smaller laboratory this morning?’ She mused aloud. ‘Can I offer you breakfast?’

‘If you haven’t already eaten?’

Harry had deliberately skipped breakfast at Hogwarts that morning, wanting both to arrive at the hour he’d promised, and to avoid having to make excuses to his friends, and probably teachers, for his disappearance. He knew he’d face the questions when he returned, but really, forgiveness had always been easier to win than permission.

‘No, no. I assumed that I would eat with you.’ She replied, leading him through to the breakfast room.

-

‘You’re well rested?’

Harry put down his fork and nodded.

‘I am.’ He confirmed.

Perenelle inclined her head.

‘Then we shall work until lunchtime.’ She said, standing and guiding Harry to her study, a large, elegant room artfully decorated in pale green and white and gold, its walls scattered with priceless paintings.

Harry had arranged with his guardians to spend one day a week at home so that he could continue his more… questionable studies with both more convenience and a greater degree of privacy than Hogwarts could offer him. He’d asked Perenelle about Blood Magic a year before, his curiosity having been piqued by a book discussing it that he’d found in the Flamel library. Rather than have her ward wander off and experiment by himself with such a dangerous branch of magic, as she knew he was almost certain to do, Perenelle had elected to take his instruction into her own hands.

‘Now.’ She began, settling herself on a chair. ‘I wanted to discuss blood tracking with you this morning. Blood tracking is a term we use to describe a number of spell areas and functions. With it, it is possible to draw a family tree back through dozens of magical generations, to locate a man half a world away and sheltered by the strongest wards, even to use the residue of a spell to identify its caster.’ She paused. ‘It also requires extraordinary delicacy and precision of touch.’

Harry nodded, and decided it was a perfect time to broach the subject he’d been mulling over during breakfast.

‘I served my detention for the flying last night.’ He began slowly, and although Perenelle raised an eyebrow, understandably wondering why he’d segued into an apparently completely unrelated subject, she didn’t interrupt. ‘Zacharias, that’s the boy who got in trouble with me, and I were sent into the forest near the school with the groundskeeper.’

Perenelle nodded curiously, clearly unaware of the Forbidden Forest’s formidable reputation.

‘We found a tent.’

‘A tent.’ Perenelle repeated.

Harry nodded.

‘Where there should not be a tent. A tent that felt like Blood Magic.’

‘Felt?’

Harry tried to find the right words.

‘It wasn’t warded. It seemed almost like the magic you used to repair Sebastien.’ He said.

Perenelle frowned.

‘I will not doubt you; your sensing abilities have always been remarkably acute. But that was healing magic… you say this tent shouldn’t have been there? It wasn’t occupied?’

Harry shook his head.

‘I don’t know. We didn’t try to go inside; the groundskeeper just reported it to the headmaster.’

Perenelle nodded, although she seemed curious.

‘Well, I’m sure Albus will know what to do.’ She replied. ‘But I’m impressed that you managed to remember what the magic I used to heal your friend felt like. Perhaps we should discuss healing with blood connections in a few weeks, although the spellwork is considerably more advanced than anything I’ve done with you before.’ She mused.

-

‘She’s here.’ Nicholas declared suddenly.

Harry had to force himself to carry on eating calmly following the announcement.

Two minutes later a woman stalked into the room, her big amber eyes flicking around the three of them sat at the lunch table.

‘Good afternoon Lord and Lady Flamel, ‘Arry,’ She purred.

‘Hello Ekaterina.’ Perenelle greeted coolly, barely glancing up from her soup.

The woman chuckled throatily and draped herself across a chair next to Harry, skin-tight leather stretching sinfully across her lean curves.

‘Have you finished, ‘Arry?’ She asked, staring at him unblinkingly and slowly licking her full, crimson-painted lips.

He was used to her by now, though.

‘I have.’ He agreed pleasantly. ‘If you would excuse us?’ He asked his guardians politely.

‘Go, go.’ Perenelle said dismissively, waving her hand. Harry was fairly sure that she wasn’t jealous of the beautiful Russian, but nevertheless seemed to find the woman remarkably irritating. That didn’t remove the fact that Ekaterina Aslanova was the very best at what she did, though, and so the lady of the house suffered her presence.

Ekaterina stood up with Harry and followed him through to the hallway and down the long stairway that led beneath the villa.

‘Really, Kat?’ Harry asked, jerking to one side to press his back against the wall and pointing his wand at the smirking woman as her stinging hex flew harmlessly past.

She looked back innocently, and rolled her eyes when Harry remained where he was and gestured for her to take the lead.

‘I do not want you getting complacent.’ She said airily and she moved ahead of him, swaying her hips.

‘I really don’t think I’m likely to get complacent around you.’ Harry replied drily.

She tossed her honey coloured hair, but otherwise ignored him as she flung open the big double doors to the huge, empty room they used for their training. The Flamels had another chamber, one that was designed specifically for duelling, but Ekaterina had taken one look at its enormous south-facing windows and pronounced it ‘too bright’. Harry had later discovered that her decision had absolutely nothing to do with its suitability for combat, but rather her own desire to avoid too much sunlight touching her milk-pale skin.

‘You are ready?’ She asked.

Harry nodded, slightly surprised she hadn’t just started to throw curses at him.

‘Very well.’ She smiled slowly, before twirling her wand delicately to spin half a dozen pale blue strands of magic out of the air.

Harry flicked a few powerful stunners at her in an attempt at distraction, but she extended her free hand almost casually and cast a wandless, almost invisible shield that absorbed them before winking straight out of existence.

Harry was immediately forced on the defensive after that, as the blue magic began darting across the distance between them in spitting bursts, guided with inch-perfect precision. He knew Ekaterina would tell him off if he raised a full shield, and so he had to keep up an almost constant string of deflections, knowing that to lose concentration for even a fraction of a second, to allow a single spark of the glittering magic past his defence, was likely to leave him on the floor, writhing with agony.

-

Three hours later he did drop, although of his own volition, onto the cold stone flags, breathing heavily and covered with a clammy layer of sweat.

‘You went hard today.’ Ekaterina noted as she stalked her way across the room to stand over him, eyeing his prone form with what looked suspiciously like amusement.

‘You always drive me hard.’ Harry replied.

She chuckled.

‘Oh, darling, you haven’t seen anything yet.’ She purred smugly. ‘But you did well.’ She admitted. ‘Give it a few decades and you might even give me a proper fight.’

‘Decades?’ Harry asked from the floor, pulling together as much arrogance as he could in his exhausted state. ‘Two years, at most, and I’ll have you on the floor begging for mercy.’

She smirked dangerously.

‘Darling, if you find me on the floor begging, I promise that it won’t be for mercy.’

Harry felt suddenly vulnerable lying on his back before her predatory gaze, and when she extended a manicured hand to pull him to his feet he let go hastily.

‘Now go.’ She told him. ‘I have kept you from your next instructor.’

Harry groaned internally as he looked at his muggle wristwatch and saw that he was indeed going to be at least a quarter of an hour late. Truth be told, he was half surprised that Adam hadn’t stormed his way into the room already and dragged him off. He hastily took his leave of Ekaterina and made his way back upstairs.

‘Come in.’ Came the shouted response to his knock.

Adam Ewart was not the kind of person to deliberately weaponise his appearance, but the sight of the lean, muscular man standing shirtless before him, his long dark hair held back in a loose ponytail, had considerably more of an effect on Harry than all of Ekaterina’s undoubtable charms.

‘You’re not upset?’ He asked cautiously as he entered.

Adam smiled at him.

‘Of course not. I can understand if you want to spend some time with your family after your first week at school.’ He tilted his head, pale eyes gleaming with amusement. ‘Or even if you got caught up with Ekaterina.’

Harry had to use Occlumency to repress his blush. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed by the implication of Adam’s words, as such, but rather that having an extremely attractive man standing in front of him, his abs flexing mesmerically, and making conversation that was forcing Harry’s imagination to go… places, was mildly discomforting.

‘I’m sorry.’ He apologised. ‘I think Ekaterina and I got carried away.’

Adam quirked an eyebrow, a smirk playing about his full lips.

‘I’m sure you did.’ He drawled suggestively, forcing Harry to strengthen his Occlumency to keep the blood from his cheeks. ‘Here, drink this.’ He instructed, tossing Harry a phial of bright green liquid.

Harry drained the Pepperup Potion, and felt the steam rush from his ears as new energy coursed through him.

‘Feeling better?’

Harry nodded.

‘Much.’

Adam eyed him.

‘You look much more comfortable in your disguise than you did when we last met.’ He noted. ‘Would you prefer to train without the glamours today?’

Harry was sorely tempted. He didn’t much like his appearance as Harry Flamel; he felt skinny and pale and slightly soft around the edges. He knew that all of his own strength and athleticism lay beneath the veil of magic, but living behind a disguise that he himself was unable to see past still gave him a strange sensation at times. Standing in front of a half naked man whose tall form was corded with muscle wasn’t helping his new sense of inadequacy.

‘No.’ He decided regretfully. ‘I’d better stay as I am for now. I need to get used to it, and training with you like this will help me to acclimatise.’

-

This time round it was only two hours before Harry was lying on the padded floor, gesturing mutely in surrender as he gasped for breath.

‘Not bad.’ Adam said, breathing easily, though Harry’s gaze absentmindedly followed a bead of sweat as it made its slow descent down the man’s chest.

‘Thanks, I think.’ Harry said eventually, groaning slightly as he stretched out and felt a string of new bruises across his ribcage. The open-handed blow hadn’t felt too painful at the time, but then adrenaline could anaesthetise a multitude of injuries.

‘You might want to put some ointment on those.’ Adam said, apparently more aware of where he’d managed to injure Harry than Harry himself had been.

‘Yes.’ He agreed, forcing himself to sit up and massage his calf muscles. ‘You didn’t hold back.’ He noted.

‘Why should I?’ Adam asked, grinning as he went to pull on a white t-shirt that was so tight and so sheer it did almost nothing to conceal the musculature of his torso. ‘You’ve been training with me twice a week almost every week for nearly five years now. If you hadn’t learned some serious skills in that time then I can promise you I would have given up a while back.’

Harry grinned at the compliment.

‘Anyway,’ Adam continued, ‘if we’re only meeting once a week from now on then I’m going to have to push you harder in each session.’

-

‘You look tired.’ Perenelle observed at dinner that evening.

‘I am.’ Harry agreed. ‘I thought the weekends were supposed to give students a chance to recover.’

Nicholas chuckled, but Perenelle was unimpressed.

‘It’s your choice to drive yourself this hard.’ She said. ‘You know your limits and unless I think you are at risk of doing yourself serious harm then I will not stop you.’

Harry nodded. He was grateful for his guardians’ hands-off approach; he knew that most parents would have got in his way considerably more frequently than they chose to, but he couldn’t repress the faint desire for a little more sympathy, no matter that he knew he had only himself to blame.

‘Well, my lessons at Hogwarts are easy.’ He said. ‘Even Herbology, which I’d never even thought about before turning up in the school greenhouses, is simple so far.’

‘Herbology is a fascinating subject.’ Nicholas said, taking a sip of wine. ‘I know that we have elves looking after the greenhouses here for the most part, but if I had not already dedicated my life to alchemy then I could quite easily see myself as a gardener.’

‘I wouldn’t even trust you to mow the lawns.’ Perenelle declared.

-

Harry used a powerful portkey Nicholas furnished him with to return to the edge of Hogwarts’ wards as soon as dinner was over, and enjoyed the slow walk up to the warmly lit castle in the cool night air.

‘Good evening, Harry.’

Harry supposed he shouldn’t have been particularly surprised to find the headmaster standing in the entrance hall, apparently waiting for him.

‘Good evening, headmaster.’ He replied politely, suddenly realising that Professor Dumbledore was the only teacher at the school who addressed him by his first name.

‘I am glad to see that you have returned to us safely.’ The headmaster continued, eyes still twinkling, but voice sounding oddly serious.

‘Yes, sir.’ Harry replied, reluctant to explain his disappearance without a direct question.

Professor Dumbledore peered at him over his half moon spectacles.

‘I will not ask where you were,’ he continued, ‘for that is your own affair, and I cannot claim to have always remained within the strictest limits of the school’s wards during my student days. However, we have additional security this year, which complicates the issue somewhat.’

‘The dementors.’

‘Precisely.’ Professor Dumbledore agreed. ‘If you are crossing the edge of the school grounds then you are at considerable risk of encountering our new guards.’

‘I didn’t see any tonight.’ Harry protested.

‘Or when you left this morning.’ The headmaster added with a knowing expression. ‘I know that I am unlikely to persuade you to discontinue your… adventures.’ He said, ‘And so I would be appreciative if you would agree to use this for your weekend excursions.’

The headmaster dipped a spindly hand into a pocket of his robes and withdrew a large gold coin from it. When Harry took it, he felt immediately that it was chocolate.

‘A portkey?’ He guessed, noting the faint tingle of magic about it.

‘Just so.’ Professor Dumbledore agreed. ‘I suggest that you apply a drop of your blood to it this evening, for it to work properly and allow you past the wards. It has the ability to take you to Hogsmeade high street from behind the school’s barriers, and to bring you back to the steps of the school from beyond them. You need do no more than focus on your destination with it in hand and allow the portkey some of your magic in order to do its work.’

Harry eyed the coin he was turning over in his grasp, not really sure how to respond. He was amazed that the headmaster had neither attempted to ask him where he had been, nor to stop him from going in future, and staggered that he actually seemed to be helping to facilitate his excursions. He was no expert on magical transportation, but he knew that a repeat portkey of the kind Professor Dumbledore was presenting him with was a deeply impressive piece of magic. For the headmaster to give him something that allowed him to travel past the school’s wards, whatever other limitations he had quietly placed on it, was an oddly moving declaration of trust.

‘Umm, thank you, sir.’ He said eventually. ‘I’m very grateful.’ He added, the words seeming somehow inadequate.

‘Oh, there’s no need for that.’ Professor Dumbledore said. ‘I just want to keep you safe, and I have found in the past that if you clip a bird’s wings it will only try to escape you all the more eagerly.’

‘So I’m a bird?’ Harry asked dubiously, not quite sure he was comfortable with the headmaster’s metaphor.

‘Not at all. Not at all.’ The professor disagreed cheerfully. ‘I was just making a passing observation. I am glad to see you back safely, though, and I will let you get off to bed.’

With that farewell the headmaster strode off, the flights of the main staircase rearranging themselves obediently before him. Harry stared after the man for a few long moments, before making his own way up to Ravenclaw tower.

‘Harry!’

He smiled slightly at Liram’s called greeting as he entered the common room.

‘Hey.’ He replied, walking over to sit in front of the fire.

‘Where have you been?’ Liram asked, looking at him curiously.

‘Went home.’ Harry replied casually, grinning when he saw Anthony’s confused expression.

‘You went home?’ Liram repeated, before smirking slightly. ‘Homesick?’

‘Just desperate to escape from you guys.’ Harry replied.

Liram rolled his eyes.

‘But you’ve come back to us.’ He pointed out drily.

‘Couldn’t stay away.’ Harry paused, wanting to be at least somewhat honest. ‘My mother’s just teaching me some things, and it’s easier for me to go to her than for her to come to Hogwarts.’

Liram looked at him intently before leaning in.

‘Do you mean Blood Magic?’ He whispered.

Anthony looked a bit shocked, both at the question and Harry’s nod.

‘Cool.’ Liram replied. He was trying to be casual about it, but Harry could see a slight edge of nervousness in his friend’s expression. ‘Will you be going every Sunday?’

‘Pretty much, I think.’ Harry replied. ‘Either Saturday or Sunday. To be honest, I’d prefer Mondays, but although Snape would probably be delighted to see the back of me, I suspect McGonagall would be less impressed.’

‘You’re probably right.’ Liram agreed. ‘Although we both know you could stop going to lessons altogether and somehow still be ahead of the rest of us.’

‘That’s not true.’ Harry protested.

Liram looked at him steadily.

‘You think you’ve been subtle about it, joining in and helping everyone when we’re doing practical work, but don’t think we haven’t noticed you quietly sitting and doing stuff that definitely isn’t the work we’ve been set.’

‘I do do the work we’ve been set.’

‘Yeah, in like five minutes at the beginning of each lesson.’

Harry couldn’t really disagree. Most of the time he already knew the material, and in subjects like Herbology or World Studies, which he hadn’t had any interest in, or Literature, where he simply happened not to have read the books they were studying, then the work was simple enough, and the work rate slow enough, that he was able to keep up with almost no effort; particularly when the teachers were forced to slow down and repeat for people like Weasley.

‘You’re hardly struggling either…’ He pointed out, trying to turn the interrogation around.

Liram shrugged.

‘Not really.’ He admitted. ‘But I’m still learning from the lessons. You’re not.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s fine by me, of course, that you’re way ahead of the rest of us, though I think Daphne is less happy.’

Harry narrowed his eyes.

‘You think she’s jealous?’ He asked curiously. He felt a bit guilty discussing Daphne with Liram, particularly with Anthony listening in, but he wanted to know the other boy’s opinion of her behaviour towards him.

‘Probably.’ Liram said. ‘I’ve kind of known her for years, and she’s always been competitive. She probably expected to come here and be at the top of every class before she turned up, and now she’s here and she has rivals; Blaise and me, that Granger girl, Smith, maybe a couple of others. And then there’s you. In every class the two of you share she’s just fighting for second place.’ He shrugged again. ‘She’ll probably settle down, but it’ll take her a while to get over the shock.’

‘I suppose that makes sense.’ Harry said, thinking over Liram’s words. He wanted to protest, but he knew that his yearmates were far behind him, and that Liram would call bullshit if he attempted false modesty.

‘Speaking of which…’ Liram continued. ‘Do you mind just glancing over my Economics homework?’

-

‘Right! Let’s see if we can manage a lower casualty rate this week.’

Harry thought Madame Hooch’s comment was a little insensitive, particularly when her inability to catch him had been at least as much to blame for Neville’s injury as the boy’s own incompetence. The rumour going round the school was that the intervention of his grandmother had excused him from flying lessons. Harry thought the bullying Neville was likely to receive for his escape would probably outweigh the pain of a few more falls, but then he loved flying, and struggled to imagine the kind of fear it seemed to elicit from the other boy.

Liram had apparently managed to boost Anthony’s confidence during the previous week, which Harry decided was an impressive achievement when half of the class was probably still scarred by the sight of Neville Longbottom’s accident.

‘Doing ok?’

Anthony smiled back, though his unease was plain and his face was pale. They were only hovering a few feet above the ground with the rest of the class as Madame Hooch lectured them on broom safety. The talk was a week too late, and left Harry wondering whether someone had told her to take more precautions.

A couple of minutes later they were all flying in slow circles around the grassed courtyard, Madame Hooch hovering in the middle with a beady eye on them and shouting at Malfoy and Smith to slow down.

‘You’d think being on the house Quidditch team would be enough to get us out of these lessons.’ Liram muttered to Harry, coming to fly alongside him.

‘Yup.’ Harry agreed. ‘But I think Hooch wants to do everything by the book after last week.’

Liram smirked.

‘Poor Neville. I think we’re supposed to be done with this class before Yule, though?’

Harry nodded.

‘Yeah. Hooch just needs to sign a form and we’re free to fly in the grounds in our spare time.’ He wondered absently whether any students had ever accidentally fallen into the lake or the Forbidden Forest.

‘To be honest, with five hours of Quidditch a week, I don’t think I’ll want to go flying for fun.’ Liram replied.

‘What?’ Tracey screeched, darting over to join them. ‘There’s no such thing as too much flying!’

Harry rolled his eyes at her.

‘I didn’t see you at tryouts…’ He pointed out.

‘I don’t like playing Quidditch.’ Tracey replied huffily. ‘Too many balls trying to hit you.’

‘You don’t like balls, Miss Davis?’

‘Fuck off, Smith.’

‘Hello again, Zacharias.’ Harry greeted pleasantly, wondering how many people could join their floating knot of conversation before Madame Hooch came over to break them up.

‘Hi Harry.’ Smith said cheerfully. ‘Congratulations on getting on the Ravenclaw team, by the way. I hear you made it into the reserves too, Liram.’

‘Thanks.’ Harry replied, wondering what the other boy was up to.

‘What do you want, Smith?’ Tracey asked.

Well, that’s one way of approaching the situation.

‘Nothing, Davis.’ The boy said. ‘Just came over to say hi, and congratulate you guys.’

‘Well you’ve done that now, so you can fuck off.’ Tracey repeated, apparently unimpressed.

‘No need to be rude, Davis…’ Smith replied, taking both hands off his broom to hold them up in mock-surrender.

Liram snorted with laughter when Madame Hooch’s sudden whistle caused Zacharias to jump and wobble wildly before he managed to steady himself.

‘Smith! Hands on the broom!’ She shouted.

He flushed slightly, but gave them a cheerful grin before flying off to rejoin the Hufflepuffs.

‘He was perfectly safe until she came up behind him and blew that thing.’ Harry commented. Zacharias was annoying, but he could fly.

‘Yeah.’ Liram agreed. ‘To be honest I think she just makes these classes more dangerous by being here.’

‘I think Neville’s grandmother wanted her fired.’ Daphne commented, taking Smith’s place flying next to Tracey, though well away from Harry.

‘Augusta Longbottom didn’t get something she wanted?’ Liram commented, feigning amazement.

‘My father says Dumbledore stepped in to save her.’ Daphne replied, shrugging.

-

‘Do you guys fancy going to Hogsmeade next weekend?’ 

‘We’re not allowed on Hogsmeade weekends until next year.’ Tracey said immediately, looking up from her attempt to simultaneously eat lunch and finish a Magical Theory essay she had due in next period.

Blaise smirked.

‘I know.’ He replied, looking pleased to have the group’s undivided attention. ‘But my mother is friends with one of the aurors who’s part of the squad guarding the school. She’s got them to offer to escort us.’

‘Friends?’ Tracey asked pointedly.

Blaise seemed unfazed.

‘She,’ he began, ‘and mother have known each other for years, but if you don’t want to go…’

‘I didn’t say that!’ Tracey said hastily, homework apparently completely forgotten.

‘Good.’ Blaise said. ‘After breakfast next Saturday then?’

They all murmured their agreement.

-

‘Mr Flamel. I can’t help but notice that you don’t seem to be finding the work in my lessons particularly stimulating.’

Professor McGonagall had called him back at the end of her double period, and was eyeing him with narrowed eyes from the high-backed seat behind her desk.

‘Not at all!’ He protested hastily. ‘Your lessons are great, professor, it’s just that, well…’

‘You’ve done all of this before?’ She interrupted drily.

‘Most of it.’ He admitted. Of the half-dozen Transfigurations they’d covered in the first few weeks of term, he’d done almost identical spells to four of them, and had worked out the other two pretty quickly with the theoretical knowledge he had.

She nodded.

‘I suspected as much.’

She reached into a drawer of her desk and pulled out a small wire cage with a live mouse inside.

‘Would you turn this into a snuffbox for me, please, Mr Flamel?’ She asked crisply.

Harry raised an eyebrow at her before focusing his attention on the creature. He gently removed the pale brown animal from its container, feeling its tiny heart beating like a vibration against his hand. He murmured a soft stunning spell, which made it freeze in place and roll over on his palm.

He placed the unconscious creature carefully, right-way up, on the polished surface of the professor’s desk, before pointing his wand at it and fixing the image of one of Perenelle’s decorative boxes in his head. He released the magic slowly, watching fur recede into skin, thin flesh stretch and expand and harden.

‘Done.’ He said eventually, making no move to touch the object.

McGonagall leaned in intently, picking the silver box up carefully and turning it over slowly.

‘Very good.’ She murmured softly. ‘Very good.’ She repeated, before fixing him with her gaze. ‘This transfiguration is the practical part of the end of first year exam I set. You managed to do it perfectly, and with not a little flair, without any preparation or incantation. I will be speaking to the headmaster to see what special arrangements we can make for you.’

-

‘Good morning, Harry!’ The headmaster exclaimed.

The subject of his welcome wondered idly whether there was something other than sugar in Dumbledore’s muggle sherbet that made him perpetually cheerful.

‘Good morning, professor.’ He replied, nodding a greeting to Fawkes, taking the offered seat and helping himself to breakfast in the pattern he’d become accustomed to after a few of their meetings.

‘I’m very pleased with how well you seem to have settled in.’ Dumbledore commented, dropping a spoonful of tea leaves straight into a cup of cold milk and stirring the mixture slowly.

‘Umm, thank you, professor, is there any reason why I shouldn’t have done so?’

A cloud seemed to cross the old wizard’s face for a moment before his expression cleared.

‘No, no, it just does my heart glad to see students making friends, enjoying themselves, cherishing their youth…’ he peered at Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles, ‘being inspired by their studies.’

‘Sir?’

‘I had a rather curious meeting with Professor McGonagall a couple of days ago, at which she informed me that you seem to be rather ahead in her lessons. Further inquiries revealed a similar situation in your other subjects, although I must admit that Severus proved somewhat reluctant to admit as much.’

Harry grinned slightly at the thought of a compliment being dragged from a professor who seemed to dislike him intensely. Professor Dumbledore chuckled knowingly.

‘Yes, I rather suspected that you might run into some… issues with Severus, but he is a superb teacher, and covers all of the first year Potions classes.’

Harry looked at him curiously.

‘Can I ask why, sir?’

‘For the precise details, you will have to ask Professor Snape, but suffice to say, he and your father were in the same year at school and did not always see eye to eye.’

Harry nodded slowly, wondering.

‘But that does not address the issue we were discussing previously.’ Dumbledore continued. ‘I am aware that you appear to have been keeping yourself stimulated in lessons with work that your teachers have not set, although I appreciate that you also complete the tasks you are set.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled with amusement.

‘I have been thinking over this problem, and I do not desire to tear you away from your own studies, so I hope that I have come up with a reasonable compromise. I contemplated having you join more senior students in their classes, but suspect that that would have its own difficulties and complications. Instead, I have spoken to your teachers, and all have agreed to allow you to take the exam they set as an informal assessment at the end of first year, Should you pass, as none of us have any doubt that you will, we will allow you to conduct your own private study in class, in consultation with the relevant teachers, who will help guide you towards appropriate material.’

Harry nodded. The solution was probably about as good as he could have hoped, truth told, but he couldn’t help but resent the fact that it would give both his teachers and headmaster precise knowledge of, and control over, what he was studying.

‘Now that we’ve sorted that out,’ Dumbledore continued cheerfully, ‘I wanted to discuss the most important Wizengamot legislation of the nineteen thirties with you.’

-

‘What’s that?’ Anthony asked curiously, looking at the book Harry had dropped open on the coffee table between them in the Ravenclaw common room.

‘A Transfiguration book McGonagall gave me.’ He replied, trying to make sense of the spell diagram on the page in front of him.

‘That’s not the first year textbook.’ Liram observed, looking up from the novel he was reading.

‘No. It’s on switching spells. To be honest, it’s pretty confusing. I don’t really understand why you would want to swap a tortoise and a hamster? And if you swap them, have you actually done anything? Are they just the same creatures, in different positions? Does the tortoise suddenly have a mind of a hamster, and vice versa? It sounds kind of cruel.’

‘Isn’t that OWL level?’ Liram asked, completely bypassing the animal rights issue.

‘I don’t know, to be honest; McGonagall just suggested that I might find it interesting.’

Harry had told his friends of the arrangement he had reached with the headmaster, noting their responses carefully. Tracey had seemed to care the least; she was clever, but not particularly dedicated to academic pursuits. Liram had been honestly impressed, Anthony kind of awed. Blaise had responded politely, but Harry could read the jealousy as clear as day in the other boy’s stance and expression. Daphne had congratulated him coolly, before closing off completely, almost completely unreadable.

-

‘Right, children. I’m doing this as a favour to Vittoria, and I expect you to do exactly as I say. My duty is to keep you safe, and in order to do that I need you to listen to my instructions.’

Harry was already beginning to regret accepting Blaise’s offer. His mother’s auror friend was a tall, thin woman with knifepoint features, hard eyes and short grey hair. Harry hadn’t met the notorious Vittoria Zabini, but he was struggling to imagine how a supposedly impossibly captivating society hostess and professional widow became friends with a woman who looked like she’d sooner curse someone’s limbs off than engage in drawing room conversation.

Nevertheless, they followed her scarlet-robed form obediently down the steps of the school, and watched, impressed, as she conjured a great gleaming heron Patronus that circled the group of them protectively as the school gates clanked slowly open.

‘It is only safe to approach the wardline with the protection of a Patronus.’ The woman told them. ‘There might only be half a dozen dementors patrolling three miles of perimeter, but they could be anywhere.’

‘Is it difficult to cast?’ Tracey asked, her eyes following the shining bird.

‘The Patronus Charm?’ The auror, who had yet to introduce herself, asked. She didn’t wait for a response. ‘Extremely. It’s one of the eight advanced-level spells auror cadets are required to be able to cast before graduating into the field, and is usually one of the two or three they struggle most with. They don’t even teach it until the final year of training.’

Hmm, sounds like a challenge. Harry thought.

‘Is the charm just used for warding off dementors?’ Blaise asked curiously. Harry was rather enjoying the other boy’s attempts to fend off awkwardness. They’d all jumped at the chance to escape the school, but his mother’s hatchet-faced friend was putting something of a downer on proceedings.

‘No.’ The woman in question replied shortly, before giving in. ‘It is equally effective on lethifolds, and with a minor variation can be used to carry private messages to specific individual with great speed.’

Useful, Harry mused, wondering idly what form his own Patronus would take.

The walk down to the village after that was twenty minutes of slightly awkward silence, interrupted occasionally by Blaise’s attempts to make conversation.

Harry wondered whether they would ever escape the woman’s oppressive presence when she asked them where they wanted to go, and then followed them straight into Honeydukes sweet shop, and stood by the door, gaze flicking regularly between her charges and the street outside.

‘Harry?’ Liram called from the far side of the shop.

‘Umm, not really a fan, I’m afraid.’ Harry said, eyeing the big bag of Fizzing Whizbees his friend was holding.

Liram rolled his eyes, darting a glance to their guard.

‘No, ignore these, I just wanted to talk to you away from her. How are we going to get away?’

‘Get away?’ Harry asked curiously.

‘Yes.’ Liram said. ‘Escape the bitch. I didn’t agree to come just so we could have five minutes in a sweetshop accompanied by a woman who makes McGonagall look cuddly.’

‘What makes you think I know what to do?’

‘Well you’re the bloody master of escape.’ Liram said. ‘You get out of school every weekend easily enough.’

‘That doesn’t mean I can slip a trained auror who’s standing less than twenty feet away from me.’ Harry pointed out, though he was kind of flattered that Liram had come to him.

‘We could stun her?’ Liram suggested hopefully.

‘You really want to try stunning a woman who’s probably on a hair trigger and has almost certainly killed people?’ Harry asked.

‘Maybe not.’ Liram agreed reluctantly.

‘Are we planning to escape?’

Liram hastily made a shushing gesture to Tracey, whose whisper had been loud enough that she might as well have just spoken normally.

‘I don’t think we’re going to manage it.’ Harry told them.

‘Urgh, fucking Blaise. Knew it was too good to be true.’ Tracey said.

‘What if we go to the pub?’ Liram suggested. ‘Surely she wouldn’t, like, sit at the same table as us?’

‘Worth a try.’ Harry said dubiously.

Tracey immediately went to hurry the others up.

-

‘The Three Broomsticks?’ Their guard repeated Harry’s polite request dubiously, eyeing the cosy-looking establishment in question. ‘I’m not sure you should be going in pubs at your age.’ She said.

‘We’re not going to be drinking alcohol!’ Daphne exclaimed, doing some remarkable acting. ‘My father would be appalled.’ She said, shuddering.

Their auror guard surveyed them. Harry decided in that moment that Anthony and Tracey would never have great careers on stage; the former looked extremely nervous, the latter was practically bouncing up and down in place. Thankfully, the rest of them managed to hold it together well enough that the auror eventually gave a grudging nod, and ushered them inside the pub in question, after first sticking her head through the door and examining the interior.

The six of them quickly found a table. The pub was almost empty, which Harry supposed was unsurprising at eleven in the morning on a Saturday that wasn’t a Hogsmeade weekend for the school. He could have cheered when their chaperone stationed herself in solitary splendour at a table next to the door.

‘Yes!’ Tracey exclaimed, apparently less restrained.

‘Can I get some drinks?’ Harry asked the group.

Liram went with him over to the bar to give their order. Harry could feel the eyes of their escort burning a hole in the back of his head, presumably making sure they weren’t buying anything stronger than Butterbeer from the remarkably curvaceous bartender.

‘Are you boys from the school?’ The woman asked them as she began to pour their drinks. ‘I don’t recognise you.’

Liram smiled at her charmingly.

‘We are.’ He told her softly. ‘But don’t tell anyone. We snuck out.’

She smiled back.

‘Oh my!’ She exclaimed softly, ‘That must be why you came in with that miserable auror woman; she’s chasing after you to bring you back!’

Liram flushed slightly.

‘You’re first years?’ The bartender asked, amused.

‘We are.’ Harry agreed, trying not to smirk at Liram.

‘Madame Rosmerta.’ The woman introduced herself, extending a hand over the bar to shake. ‘I own this place.’ She continued, gesturing. ‘I get to know most of the students at the school when they come in here on their free weekends.’

‘So you know all the scandals?’ Harry asked, smiling.

She returned the expression.

‘Of course, but my silence is absolute, you know.’ Her long, blonde curls bounced merrily as she finished pouring their Butterbeers.

‘I’ll get these.’ Harry told Liram, handing over a few galleons.

‘Next round is mine, then.’ His friend said cheerfully, trying to balance four Butterbeers in his grip.

‘Ooh, gimme!’ Tracey exclaimed as they came over, hands eagerly extended to take one of the frothing tankards.

‘So, Blaise…’ Liram began, ‘how does your mother know this woman?’ He tilted his head briefly in the direction of the auror.

Blaise clearly picked up on the edge of mockery, but ignored it.

‘Agatha led the investigation into the death of my mother’s first husband.’ He said shortly. ‘The two of them became friends.’

‘She’s terrifying.’ Tracey said, wiping away a foam moustache with the back of her hand.

‘Yeah.’ Blaise agreed shortly. ‘But she’s a good woman.’

‘So, how’s Quidditch training going?’ Daphne asked suddenly, looking at Harry.

‘It’s going well, I think,’ he began, grateful for the opportunity to break the silence, but wondering why Daphne was suddenly showing interest in something he knew she didn’t care about. He forced on a playful expression, ‘But you shouldn’t be trying to charm secret information about the Ravenclaw team’s preparations from me.’

She rolled her eyes.

‘Please. You don’t play against Slytherin until after the Yule holiday, and even when you do I think I want you to win.’

‘Daphne!’ Tracey exclaimed, slapping her friend on the shoulder.

‘Do you really want Flint to win the Quidditch cup?’

‘I suppose not.’ Tracey acknowledged.

-

‘I want to be back up to the school by lunchtime, so if you want to visit any more shops then I suggest that you finish your drinks.’

The six of them looked up from their cheerful conversation at the interruption. To be fair, the auror called Agatha had left them alone for almost an hour. Harry felt slightly guilty for not having offered to buy her a drink. They quickly drained their tankards and wrapped back up in scarves and coats to stop out onto the frosty cobblestones of Hogsmeade’s high street.

‘What about this one?’ Tracey suggested as they walked past a low, glass-fronted shop with a selection of brightly coloured robes in the window.

Daphne barely spared it a glance before arching a pale, immaculate brow. She didn’t need to say anything to keep them walking.

‘What about Zonko’s, then?’ Anthony suggested half-heartedly, nodding towards a bright orange shop with a display of miniature, exploding fireworks in its window.

‘Yeah, su…’

‘Get down!’

Harry dropped instinctively, pulling Anthony, walking next to him, down with him. He flicked his blackwood wand into his hand and dragged Anthony across the street until their backs were against the stone wall of a cottage before looking round.

Daphne, Blaise and Liram were all scions of powerful families in the public eye, and had clearly received training in emergency evasion tactics. They’d all, like Harry, responded immediately to the auror’s command and he could see them pressed up against surrounding walls. Tracey, however, was crouched, head down, in the middle of the street. Harry stabbed his wand towards her and she was dragged violently across the freezing street and against the wall next to him.

‘Wha…’ Harry shoved his hand against her mouth, surveying the street in front of him. No spells were flying. He couldn’t see any dangerous animals running loose. In fact, apart from the few confused shoppers who were still staring oddly at the crouching children and the auror who’d shouted, he couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Agatha, however, was standing in the middle of the street, wand out and raised, gaze fixed on something out of his line of sight.

Nothing seemed to happen for a few seconds after that. The auror glanced briefly around her to locate her charges, before returning her attention to where it had been before. The locals, with a few nervous looks around them, went back about their business.

And then someone laughed.

It was an ugly sound; a hard, demonic cackle tinged with madness. A sudden flurry of terrified movement engulfed the shoppers, who scattered away from the direction the sound had come from. Harry’s breath caught in his throat as a woman stalked slowly into view. Her features were gaunt and her skin ash-pale, but she was unquestionably beautiful, with big dark eyes and high cheekbones, her raven-black hair a tumble of messy ringlets atop her head.

Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry recognised her immediately from her picture in the Prophet. He recalled she’d supposedly been spotted in Hogsmeade several weeks earlier, at the start of term. He also remembered that she and Sirius Black were the sole reason Hogwarts was surrounded by guards and on virtual lockdown most of the time.

‘Hello.’

Lestrange’s voice was high and childlike. She surveyed the scene in front of her as she called her greeting, before aiming a wide smile at the grim-faced auror.

‘What’s your name then, dear?’

Their guard didn’t respond. She gestured briefly with her wand and her gleaming Patronus burst forth, sprinting off in the direction of the school.

Lestrange laughed.

‘Already calling for reinforcements, dear?’ She asked mockingly. Her own wand was drawn, but held casually by her side.

Harry could see the auror assessing her opponent, weighing her stance and preparedness. He saw her stiffen, before a barely noticeable twitch of her wand brought a great mass of gleaming steel chains into existence, whirling through the air.

Bellatrix’s laughter could be heard ringing above the snap and whistle of the projectiles. Harry watched, mouth dry, as she swung her wand casually up from her waist. The chains blew apart in mid air with a pale blue flash, broken links of metal spinning wildly in all directions, clattering against shop walls and shattering windows. He barely managed to bring up a shield in time to shelter himself, Tracey and Anthony.

‘You’re going to have to do better than that, dearie!’ Called Bellatrix, twirling her wand to spin a mass of dark, jagged shadows from thin air that flittered away before darting at the auror from a multitude of directions. Their defender was forced to wrap herself in a thick layer of magic that clung to her robes and skin in order to protect herself. Harry winced as the shards of darkness hissed and fizzled against the barrier. Eventually, they sputtered out of existence, but Lestrange had switched to summoning shards of glass from the windows of surrounding shops and heavy slate tiles from their roofs to fling at her opponent, who was forced to maintain a defence that she couldn’t counterattack from behind the shelter of.

Harry was beginning to wonder whether he dared intervene, to try and take some of the pressure off the auror. She knew what she was doing, and was clearly skilled and experienced, but a shield like the one she was maintaining was incredibly draining, and he could almost feel the magical strength whipping off Lestrange. And it wasn’t just power she had. The curses she was firing came in an almost constant stream, flowing together and curving through the air in a deadly barrage with terrifying accuracy.

‘Bella! No!’

Harry jerked his head away from the duel at the shout and felt his heart stop in his chest. A tall blond man was coming out of the front of a narrow shop a couple of hundred feet up the street, and his glamour was running like water from his face as he pulled out his wand and hurried down the street in their direction. His hair darkened and the light tan drained from his skin.

Sirius Black. The betrayer of his parents was running towards him. He was behind the auror, and she was clearly too absorbed in her fight to notice the new arrival. On that basis alone, with no sign of reinforcements, Harry would have stepped in. But it was fury that made him rise, that brought the bile to his mouth and had his magic crackling and snarling against his skin.

‘Whoa shit!’ Sirius Black staggered back, barely raising a thick grey shield in time to fend off the blunt force of a blasting curse so powerful that it collapsed the front of the building behind him.

Harry followed it up with a chain of spells he’d only ever used on training dummies before, for all of them were fatal if they came into contact with a human. They didn’t. Black held and strengthened his shield. Harry could see the magic he was pouring into it condensing and darkening its colour as it simply absorbed his barrage.

‘Bloody hell, kid.’ Black exclaimed, his wide eyes barely visible behind the shield he was holding. ‘Bella!’ He shouted, glancing over for a fraction of a second before returning his attention to Harry. ‘Look, I don’t want to figh…argh!’ He broke off and cried with pain as Harry’s shield-breaking curse made contact with his defence. The amount of strength he was pouring into his barrier, which was clearly an extremely powerful Dark spell, meant that it held, but Harry could see it flicker slightly, and the magical runoff must have been like a thousand volts of muggle electricity running through the man’s wand.

Harry was broken off in the midst of casting a second shield-breaker by a sudden scream. He instinctively stopped the spell and brought up his own shield as he glanced around.

Shit. Ice ran through his veins as he saw their auror guardian collapsed on the cobbles, blood pooling around her still form. He caught sight of Bellatrix Lestrange smirking with triumph and stalking up the street, eyes fixed on him. He flooded magic into his shield automatically, trained reflexes taking over his wand arm as Occlumency wrestled with the rising panic in his head.

He heard another scream, which he thought from the direction it came in must have been Tracey, and felt his defence begin to vibrate as a burst of almost unadulterated Dark Magic slammed into it, forcing him back against the nearest wall as Lestrange made her steady, implacable advance.

He sweated and forced it to hold, pushing back his sudden terror as he tried to steepen the angle of his pearlescent shield and slide its edges into the wall behind him to reduce the burden and heighten its efficiency. He watched with horror as Lestrange began the wand movement for the shield-breaking curse he’d used on Black. He had no power left to resist, and knew that the backlash from his shield being forcibly torn apart was likely to yank his wand from his fingers and leave his arm almost completely numb with pain.

The last of his pale defence was sucked back into his wand just as the crackling ball of energy reached where his shield had stood. He flung himself to one side and rolled, curling himself around his wand protectively in the motion he’d practised a thousand times. He felt the shoulder of the casual robe he was wearing snag on the stonework of the cottage behind him, but yanked himself free and recovered into a defensive crouch. 

‘Harry!’

Definitely Tracey.

Black was wrestling with Lestrange now, for some reason, his arms around her, pinning hers to her side. At the shout, though, his eyes jerked up and fixed on Harry, widening. Lestrange was writhing wildly in his grip. Black’s gaze turned back to her, and a moment later the pair of them vanished.

Fuck! Harry screamed in his head. He knew, intellectually, that he’d been massively outgunned, but he’d just seen the man who’d killed his parents escape right in front of him.

Utter silence fell for agonising seconds as Harry stared blankly at the place the two criminals had apparated from.

‘Harry!’

He almost dropped his wand as Tracey slammed into him, her embrace boa constrictor-tight as she shuddered uncontrollably against him. Over her shoulder he saw a squad of scarlet robed aurors sprinting down the street, wands out and protected by a big, sparkling blue dome of magic.


	8. Locking Down and Opening Up

‘Do you mind not poking me with that thing?’

Harry chuckled, and actually laughed when Daphne turned to glare daggers at him. Madame Pomfrey merely tutted and continued scanning the blonde girl for injuries. The aurors had seen the two criminals disapparate and, after securing the area and examining the body of their deceased colleague, had escorted the students back to Hogwarts and the tender care of its resident healer. The fact that none of them were injured, at least physically, didn’t seem to impress the matron as she fussed around and prodded at all of them.

Harry knew that both Snape and Flitwick were outside the doors to the Hospital Wing, seething. Well, Snape would be seething; Flitwick was probably toddling around in anxious circles, stroking his beard. Madame Pomfrey had dismissed them from her domain as soon as they’d turned up, demanding to see their students.

‘Poppy.’

Harry had a feeling that Albus Dumbledore would prove tricker to banish.

‘Albus.’ The healer nodded briskly at him, before continuing about her work as the headmaster swept in, the two heads of house close at his heels.

‘My dear children.’ The ancient man began, looking incredibly sorrowful. ‘I am profoundly sorry for what you were made to witness and endure this afternoon, and I must apologise profusely for putting you in danger.’

‘It was my fault, professor.’ Blaise said, looking surprisingly guilty. ‘I got Agatha to escort us to Hogsmeade. I didn’t know what a risk we were taking.’

Dumbledore shook his head slowly.

‘The blame must lie entirely with me, Master Zabini.’ He said. ‘You are students at my school, and your protection whilst here is entirely my responsibility. I was made aware of Auror Reid’s plan, and raised no objection. I am glad to see you returned safely, but I must beg your collective apology for allowing you to be exposed to such danger.’

‘Are any of you injured?’ Professor Snape’s voice was as sneering as usual, and his black eyes avoided Harry as he spoke, but at least the words themselves showed some measure of concern.

‘No, professor.’ Daphne said immediately.

‘I can detect no injuries, save for Miss Davis’ sprained ankle and Mr Flamel’s grazed shoulder, both of which are now healed.’ Madame Pomfrey declared briskly. ‘Although I would recommend that you gentlemen,’ he she indicated Flitwick and Snape, ‘speak to your students individually about today’s events. They have all gone through a traumatic experience, and I’m quite sure they would appreciate someone to talk to.’

Professor Flitwick nodded and murmured his agreement immediately. Professor Snape’s lips twisted a little, but the look in his eyes when he glanced at Daphne, Tracey and Blaise seemed suspiciously like concern to Harry.

‘Do they know where Black and Lestrange have gone, professor?’ Harry asked at headmaster.

‘I am afraid I do not know, Harry.’ He replied. ‘The aurors here are seeing to the defences of the school, and another team has been sent from London by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to hunt for our escapees.’

Harry nodded, having expected as much.

‘I suggest that you all write to your families this evening.’ Dumbledore continued. ‘The Daily Prophet will be out in the morning, and I doubt that they will desire to be informed of today’s events by the newspaper.’

‘It’s a little late for that, Albus.’

They all turned towards the tall, muscular man with short white-blond hair who’d stormed into the Hospital Wing.

‘Father!’ Daphne exclaimed, sounding surprised. The man went immediately over to stand by his daughter, who was perched on the bed she’d been assigned, and put his hand on her shoulder, inspecting her carefully for injuries before returning his attention to the assembly.

‘Lord Greengrass.’ The headmaster greeted.

‘Could we speak?’ Daphne’s father asked, his voice tight.

‘Of course, of course.’ Professor Dumbledore agreed immediately. ‘I will trust you gentlemen to look after your students.’ He said to Snape and Flitwick, before leading Lord Greengrass from the room.

‘Poppy, are you willing to release my students to my care?’ Professor Flitwick asked.

‘Where’s Dumbledore?’

The healer was cut off from her response by the entrance of a thickset grey-haired woman wearing a monocle and scarlet battle-robes covered with a significant amount of gold brocade.

‘I fear you have just missed one another, Madame Bones.’ Professor Snape said silkily, surprising Harry by dipping a short bow towards the woman. ‘I would imagine he has taken Lord Greengrass to his office.’

The woman frowned, monocle flashing dangerously.

‘Nikhail is here?’ She asked sharply. Her gaze swept around the students sitting on the beds around her. ‘No injuries?’ She didn’t wait for a response. ‘Good. Which one of you is Mr Flamel?’

‘I am Harry Flamel.’ Harry said, feeling very young under the hard stare the woman directed at him.

‘Excellent. Come with me.’ She started striding towards the exit before he could respond.

Harry hastened after her, catching up in the corridor.

‘Madame Bones.’ The woman said, glancing down at him and extending a hand to shake even as they kept walking. ‘Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Field-Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces of Magical Britain.’

‘A pleasure to meet you.’ Harry replied, smiling, and then watching as his charm simply ran off the woman.

‘Umm, Toxic Waste.’ Harry offered as they came to a stop in front of Dumbledore’s gargoyle and Madame Bones stood glaring at it for a few seconds, as though trying to will it into obedience. She glanced at him sharply as the staircase began to grind into motion, before stepping on.

She knocked on the gleaming door, but didn’t bother wait for a response before pushing it open.

‘Ah, Amelia!’ Professor Dumbledore greeted with every appearance of good cheer. Lord Greengrass looked less delighted at the woman’s arrival, but accorded her a respectful greeting. ‘And I see you’ve brought Harry along with you as well!’ The headmaster exclaimed, beaming down at him. It was only the fact that Harry had spent a significant amount of time sat across the breakfast table from the headmaster, examining his reactions, that meant he was able to detect the faint note of confusion in the set of the man’s face.

‘Albus. Nikhail.’ The woman greeted shortly. ‘Before we discuss the events of today, I’m informing you, headmaster, that from this moment Hogwarts is under lockdown. All floo connections save for the designated emergency exit routes are to be cut off immediately. The number of aurors guarding the school is to be doubled, and I will be stationing two squads of enforcers in Hogsmeade to protect the village. No students or staff may leave the grounds under any circumstances without explicit approval from the ground commander of the aurors on duty.’

Albus Dumbledore nodded gravely.

‘I will not argue, Amelia.’ He said. ‘I have failed in my duties, and we must see to the protection of the children.’

‘Indeed.’ Nikhail Greengrass commented dangerously, before his eyes landed on Harry.

‘Mr Flamel, was it?’ He asked. ‘I saw the article in the Prophet announcing your appearance at Hogwarts. Curious.’ He frowned for a second before refocusing. ‘Why are you here?’

Harry wasn’t too sure about that himself, but thankfully Madame Bones replied before he had to think of something to say.

‘I have brought Harry here for my own reasons, Nikhail, and would be grateful if you would allow the headmaster and myself some privacy.’

The frown returned, but eventually the man inclined his head curtly and stepped into the fireplace, disappearing in a billow of emerald flame.

‘Well, at least that’s him out of the way, for now.’ Madame Bones commented after he’d disappeared, before conjuring a pair of straight-backed chairs in front of the headmaster’s desk. She sat in one, and gestured sharply for Harry to take the other.

‘Mr Flamel. The initial situation report I have received suggests that you attempted to engage with Sirius Black.’

‘Then the initial situation report was incorrect.’ Harry replied calmly. ‘I successfully engaged with Sirius Black, and prevented him from joining the attack on Auror Reid.’

Madame Bones’ eyes narrowed.

‘Schoolchildren do not attempt to fight dangerous criminals. Auror Reid was a trained, experienced, and powerful combatant, who knew precisely what she was doing and had the tools to do it. You are a thirteen year old she was attempting to protect.’

Harry raised an impassive eyebrow.

‘Auror Reid was.’

Madame Bones’ face hardened, but Harry continued before she could speak.

‘Auror Reid is now dead. She was killed in the execution of her duties by Bellatrix Lestrange. By Bellatrix Lestrange on her own. Auror Reid was talented. She was, as you say, trained, experienced, skilled, and powerful. She was also demolished. Bellatrix Lestrange on her own tore her apart. Had Sirius Black joined the assault she would have been killed even more rapidly. As it was, your aurors didn’t arrive on the scene until both had apparated. Had I not stepped in, I think it extremely unlikely that it would be only Auror Reid’s death we were mourning today.’

He saw his words have their impact, but Madame Bones would not be turned so easily.

‘When you are instructed by a member of the armed forces to take cover, you do so.’ She said crisply. ‘And remain sheltered until it has become safe to emerge. This is not a game, Mr Flamel, and you deliberately put yourself in grave danger.’

‘Madame Bones. I responded to the situation as I decided I must, and to protect myself at least as much as any other. I would have no hesitation in doing the same again under similar circumstances. I see, however, that neither of us will be moved on the issue. Instead perhaps, rather than attempting to castigate me, you could explain why it took such an inordinate amount of time for a response from the aurors stationed at the school, when Auror Reid sent a patronus message to them before engaging with Lestrange?’

Madame Bones stared at him through her monocle.

‘Rest assured, Mr Flamel, that all of the necessary investigations will take place in due course.’ She said coolly, although she didn’t seem keen to press him further on his intervention. ‘For the time being, it is my responsibility to make the school and the the village safe, and attempt to hunt down Black and Lestrange.’

‘Of course.’ Harry replied politely. ‘In that case, I will return my common room and allow you to get on with your duties.’ He stood and left the office without waiting for a response.

-

To his surprise, he found Daphne, Tracey and Blaise all huddled together with Liram and Anthony when he arrived at the Ravenclaw common room. He could tell by the looks he received as he walked across the room to join them that some of the news about what had happened in Hogsmeade was beginning to filter into the school.

‘Hey Harry.’ Liram greeted, making space for him on a sofa.

‘Hi. How are you all doing?’ Harry asked. He’d made the same inquiry as they were escorted back to the school by the aurors, but back then they’d all still been running on adrenaline.

‘Ok, I think.’ Tracey said, examining herself as though looking for previously undetected injuries.

‘What did Madame Bones want with you?’ Liram asked.

Harry shrugged.

‘To tell me off for attacking Black.’

There was silence for a few long seconds.

‘You probably saved our lives.’ Daphne said, looking at him.

Harry didn’t really want to tell them that protecting his friends had been one of the last things on his mind when he’d flung himself at the criminal.

Liram was nodding.

‘Yeah. I mean, if you hadn’t attacked Black… If you hadn’t attacked Lestrange…’ He paused. ‘There’s no fucking way any of us could have stood against them.’

‘I barely did.’ Harry bit out, slightly surprised that he was acknowledging as much openly without using it as a tactic. He’d never been one to admit to weakness. ‘If they hadn’t decided to flee… I couldn’t have lasted much longer.’

His friends looked at him soberly, all apparently realising just how much danger they’d been in.

-

‘Harry, can I speak to you?’

He looked curiously at Daphne, knowing that for her to make a specific request, rather than just make conversation as they walked down to the great hall together for lunch, meant that whatever she wanted to speak about was serious.

‘Of course.’ He replied, surprised when she grasped his hand and dragged him back down the corridor to an empty classroom.

He leant back against one of the desks and waited patiently as she paced in front of him. She looked up eventually, and swallowed before speaking.

‘I’d like to apologise for my behaviour these last few weeks.’ She began. Her voice was calm and smooth, but the fingers of one hand twitched slightly nervously. ‘You have done nothing to deserve the way I have been treating you, and I have not acted as a Greengrass should.’

Her stare was flat and direct as she finished her apology, not giving an inch.

Harry, still not sure what had caused her behaviour, and certainly not expecting such a blunt turnaround, tried to work out what he wanted to say. He could hardly deny her coolness towards him, but it seemed a little clumsy to accept an apology when he couldn’t really see that any genuine offence had been caused. Thankfully, she seemed willing to help him out.

‘You want to know why I’ve been the way I have.’ She asked, although it didn’t sound like a question.

He smiled wryly.

‘It might help me a little.’

Her lips twitched back at him before she sighed faintly.

‘The others think I’m jealous of you.’ She began. ‘Even Tracey, who I’ve known since I was four.’

Harry raised an eyebrow.

‘I take it they're wrong, then?’ He asked calmly, quietly pleased that his own doubt over Liram’s explanation had apparently been correct.

Daphne glanced down briefly.

‘Not entirely. I was jealous of you.’ She grimaced. ‘I am jealous of you.’

‘But?’

‘But that would never have been enough for me to let it show. I’ve been jealous of you since you did that wandless magic on the train, Merlin, since you introduced yourself as a Flamel. And it was a shock, to find someone who was not only better than me at magic, but belonged to a family more famous, wealthier, even more powerful than my own. You see, I’ve always been able to comfort myself with the knowledge that those who are as clever as I am are not as well born, and those who are as well born as I am are not as good at magic, and so on. I have always been able to hold an advantage over people my own age, even people a little older. With you I don’t have any edge.’ She looked at him steadily. ‘I’m beautiful, of course, but you’re pretty good-looking yourself, and appearance has never been as much of an advantage or burden to a man as it has to a woman.’

For perhaps the first time, Harry was grateful for his glamoured form.

‘But, as I said, it’s not really jealousy that caused my behaviour.’ She paused. ‘I’m being very open with you, perhaps too open, but I feel the need to be in order to make a proper apology.’ He lips twisted again. ‘My father would not be impressed by my weakness.’

‘So what is your weakness?’ Harry asked, grinning, trying to lighten the situation. Daphne smiled at him gratefully before responding.

‘You make the world seem very big.’ She frowned. ‘Or very small.’ She continued hastily as he raised an eyebrow. ‘I have grown up surrounded by certainties. I have every advantage of birth and brains and position. The world has always been mine to take, but you, you more than anyone else, make me feel small. You broaden my horizons with your talk of foreign societies and strange magics, but they’re things I don’t know about. Your parents have lived for hundreds and hundreds of years and have achieved everything that we, as magical people, as humans, strive for. The people my parents play with value the accumulation of wealth and longevity, but Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel have already won the game. So you see, it’s not that I’m jealous of you as an individual, although I am, but that I’m scared of what you represent, of the world you’ve opened up to me, and that I can’t control.’

Harry stayed still, leant against the desk, staring at the girl standing in the shaft of sunlight in front of him.

‘Thank you.’ He said eventually, with more honesty in his voice than he thought he’d ever heard before. ‘Thank you for trusting me enough.’

She let out a chuckle.

‘I don’t know that I had any other choice, really.’ She paused. ‘You see, I’m ambitious, and I want to be closer to you than anyone else.’ She turned her head briefly at a sudden bang in the corridor outside, before returning her attention to him. ‘You’ve opened up a new world to me, and I may not be able to control it, but I want to be a part of it.’

Harry didn’t know what to say. He stood there, wondering whether Daphne was asking him out. His confusion must have shown on his face, for she smiled slightly.

‘That doesn’t mean I want to be your girlfriend, yet.’ She said. Her voice was calm, but she couldn’t completely hold back her blush. ‘But I hope that my honesty with you, my ability to appreciate the difference between being a privileged posh bitch in her first year at boarding school, and the games we play and stakes we play for as adults, wanting to change the world, makes you think of me as more similar to you than anyone else here.’

Fuck. She’s audacious. Harry thought, unable to repress his grin. She’s good, too.

‘It does.’ He agreed. ‘No one else in our group is truly aware of the stakes, is ready to play the game yet.’

‘Nor am I.’ Daphne said, shrugging. ‘Yet. But they say the first step to wisdom is realising how little you know.’

Harry grinned.

‘That’s what they say.’

-

The atmosphere in the school became more subdued as the days rolled closer to All Hallow’s Eve. The Ministry had tightened security massively after the death of the auror in Hogsmeade. Pairs of scarlet-cloaked wizards could be seen striding the grounds, and the ominous tattered black cloaks of dementors drifted along the distant line of the wards. Hogsmeade weekends had been banned, and Harry knew that the headmaster had quietly ordered Argus Filch to close off all of the passageways into and out of the school. Even Quidditch practices now had to happen under the eye of a supervisor. Fortunately, Professor Flitwick had proved more than willing to come down to the pitch and watch training when he was free, and Sullivan Fawley had managed to persuade a few of the more Quidditch-interested aurors on guard duty to be there when he wasn’t available.

Ravenclaw wouldn’t play their first game until just before the Yuletide holiday, but Fawley was driving them hard. Harry, as Seeker, wasn’t suffering as much as the rest of the team, who all had to work together as a well oiled machine, but Sullivan was demanding, and there were specific plays that demanded the Seeker drop out of their search and support the rest of the team, all of which he had to learn from scratch. All the other members of the team had either been on it before, or been members of the reserves, and thus already knew most of what they were doing. Professor Flitwick, when he came to watch, was at least quiet, but the aurors who took his place sometimes applauded loudly at particularly impressive demonstrations, or shouted loud opinions about tactics and formations. They were nice enough people, but could prove remarkably irritating when Harry was trying to concentrate.

At least he’d managed to reach a somewhat satisfactory balance in his lessons, Harry thought. He had, as expected, managed to pass the end of first-year tests without much effort, and all of his teachers had thus allowed him to pursue his own interests with a little guidance and supervision. The only frustration was that they pressured him to remain focused on material within their own subject areas, which meant that he was forced to make potions or learn about plants rather than spend his time studying things he was more interested in. Daphne’s new desire for proximity seemed to have translated into regular conversations, normally in empty classrooms after shared periods of Magical Theory, about the governments and the political situations of Magical Britain and Europe. Lord Greengrass was a relatively powerful member of the Wizengamot, one of the few Dark wizards willing to vote against his magic and ideological vision for the sake of pragmatism or personal advantage. Daphne, as his heir apparent, was thus remarkably well-informed about the factions and maneuverings of both the Wizengamot itself and Minister Fudge’s administration.

-

‘Stop.’

Harry froze automatically, pulling back the half-cast curse from his wand as Ekaterina stalked over.

‘You go too hard.’ She declared. ‘You fight with fire, and that is good, but it is wildfire, Fiendfyre, and that is bad. The fire should be cold, controlled. Emotion gives you strength, but it causes you to make mistakes.’

Harry nodded reluctantly. He knew he’d been pushing, he could feel the faint throb of magical exhaustion settling into his body. He felt inadequate, though. He’d seen Black and Lestrange fight, he knew how strong they were, and he knew how far he had to go.

‘Take five minutes. Calm down. Then, we go again.’ Ekaterina said.

-

‘Ah! Good morning, Harry.’

The door to the headmaster’s study had been slightly open, and so after knocking lightly and receiving no response, Harry had stepped cautiously inside. He found Albus Dumbledore halfway up a ladder, running a bony finger along a row of books. He turned his head as Harry came in, smiling down at him.

‘I won’t be a moment, do take a seat and tuck in.’

Harry did as instructed, helping himself to food.

‘Aha! Here we are.’ The headmaster muttered, drawing a large leather-bound tome from the shelf and gingerly making his way back down the ladder. He placed it carefully on his desk before joining Harry at breakfast.

‘How have you been?’ Dumbledore asked cheerfully.

‘Fine, I think.’ Harry replied. Their meeting in the week after the incident in Hogsmeade had been cancelled, for presumably the headmaster had far more important things on his mind than abstract discussions with a first year. As such, it was the first time he’d seen Dumbledore since the strange meeting with the Madame Bones in his office. ‘I’m frustrated Black and Lestrange escaped, but I’m glad that none of my friends got hurt.’

Dumbledore smiled at him gently.

‘Or you yourself, my boy. I know you told Amelia that you were attempting to protect yourself as much as anyone else by stepping in, but you put yourself in very great danger by attacking Sirius Black.’

Harry nodded. He didn’t agree, but knew that debating the matter with the headmaster would get him nowhere.

‘Sir,’ he began cautiously instead, ‘there was something I wanted to ask you about.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘I was wondering about the tent. The tent in the forest.’

Dumbledore blinked slowly and lent back in his chair.

‘The tent.’ He repeated ruminatively. ‘Alas, by the time Hagrid had reported it to me and I had chance to inspect it, it had vanished. There was no trace of its presence. No magical residue that I could detect.’

Harry frowned, surprised. He hadn’t broached the matter with Dumbledore before, reluctantly deciding that it was really none of his business… but with…

‘Sir, do you think Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange were using the tent?’

The headmaster lifted a fluffy eyebrow.

‘Why should I think that?’

‘I’m not really sure.’ Harry began, trying tread carefully. He didn’t want to mention Blood Magic, for a number of reasons. ‘It just seems strange to find a tent in the forest where it shouldn’t be, and then two escaped convicts turning up less than a mile away from where it was.’

Dumbledore surveyed him, and Harry wished he could have made a stronger connection without revealing too much.

‘Perhaps.’ The headmaster said. ‘But the tent has gone now, and I have spoken to the centaurs in the forest, who have promised to report any similar disturbances. Additionally, I have moved the school’s wardline to run along the edge of the forest, rather than through it. I hope that reassures you?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Harry agreed, as close to meek as he ever got.

‘Now, I would like us to talk about poetry this morning.’


	9. Making Friends and Enemies

‘Checkmate.’

Harry raised a hand to cast a weak shield without looking up from his book. He need not have bothered, for the chips of marble that were all that remained of Oliver Rivers’ king flew in the opposite direction. Their fourth dorm mate, who seemed to drift between socialising with Harry, Liram and Antony, and the other first year boys in Ravenclaw, had challenged Liram to a game of chess, and was presumably now regretting his temerity. Less than ten minutes of gameplay had seen him swept off the board with ruthless efficiency. Anthony sat off to one side, watching intently, even as Padma Patil almost cooed with delight. She had attached herself to Liram’s side under the guise of offering him comfort after the attack in Hogsmeade, much to Harry’s amusement and Anthony’s annoyance.

‘You’re really good.’ She told Liram admiringly.

Liram seemed to appreciate the pretty girl’s attention, but be unsure exactly what to do with it. He thanked her politely and shifted slightly away when she leant further over the back of the sofa he was sharing with Harry. The fire crackled merrily in the grate of the Ravenclaw common room and Harry sank back comfortably into the soft navy cushions behind him as Liram raised an eyebrow in his direction.

‘Fancy a game?’

Harry smiled and shook his head.

‘I’m good, thanks.’ In truth, he was good, he just didn’t know whether he was skilled enough to beat Liram. He had no intention of allowing any cracks in the facade of invincibility he’d been careful to build up around himself. He tried to ignore the looks, but he couldn’t help but take some pleasure from the stares he received in classrooms and corridors as word of his talents spread. Of course, it hadn’t all been admiration. Hermione Granger, the bushy haired girl who’d inexplicably been sorted into Gryffindor, glared daggers at him whenever he so much as breathed in any of the classes he shared with her. Equally, a large number of the older students seemed to resent the rumours that were sweeping the school about the independent nature of his studies. Their jealousy hadn’t yet erupted into violence, but Harry knew that it was only a matter of time before even the reputation the advanced duelling class had given him wasn’t enough protection.

‘Will you be here for Samhain, Harry?’

He lowered his book and turned his head slowly to meet the curious gaze. Padma stilled and almost quailed under his inspection as he stared at her and turned the question over in his mind.

‘I’m not sure at the moment.’ He replied eventually.

Samhain was the most important day of the year for many of the Dark families, the day when the shades of the dead pressed closest to the world of the living and the chaotic magics waxed with their greatest strength. Most of the students would remain at Hogwarts for the festival, but Harry knew that many of the more traditional families would quietly have their children return home to be a part of rituals that their bloodlines had performed for centuries. Harry wasn’t entirely sure whether Padma’s inquiry was innocent, or a more sinister attempt to glean information about the Flamels. Either way, he certainly wasn’t going to give out information unnecessarily.

She smiled easily.

‘I’m not either.’ She replied, glancing at Liram, who seemed only too glad to have escaped her attention for a few seconds. ‘Daddy wants me to come home for this boring ceremony we do every year.’

Harry frowned. It was an open secret that many families still followed the old ways, but it wasn’t exactly talked about in public. As far as he knew, the Patils were considered a neutral family in Britain, which meant that their daughter was being remarkably indiscreet. Well, either that or it was another attempt at trying to get him to talk, which meant that Padma was more skilled than he’d thought.

‘But you’d rather not take part?’ He asked curiously.

She shook her head and shuddered theatrically.

‘Ugh. No. It’s weird and creepy and boring and cold.’

‘The Patils are clearly doing it wrong then!’

Harry had felt the other boy approaching the back of the sofa, and so was able to remain unmoved by his sudden exclamation. Padma, however, let out a little scream and smacked Liram in the side of the head as she jerked upright and span round.

Harry turned his head and subconsciously sat up straighter as his gaze met the grinning face and manic stare of Isiah Yaxley. Harry knew little about the boy, save to be wary of him. Yaxley’s eyes were dark and dangerous, shadowed by a fall of ink black hair and set above sharp cheekbones that jutted from a gaunt, pale face. Harry wasn’t sure whether he was in fourth or fifth year, but knew that he was known to keep largely to himself and had a somewhat questionable reputation. More than that, he carried a dangerous name. The Yaxleys were of the very oldest blood, a family line with origins long since lost but stretching back to long before the wizards of ancient Rome had set their invading foot upon British shores.

‘The Samhain rites shouldn’t be boring.’ The boy told them, eyes gleaming. ‘They should be fun.’ He glanced briefly at Padma before dropping suddenly to his knees. Harry pulled back instinctively as the boy crossed his arms on the back of the sofa and leant towards him, staring intently. ‘So much power… so much darkness.’ Yaxley’s eyes rolled back into his head and Harry shifted further away from him as his tongue darted out and ran around his lips. ‘So much… pleasure…’

The last word was almost a hiss, and suddenly Yaxley’s blown pupils were fixed on him.

‘A world not even the Flamels have access to.’ He paused, seeming to deliberate. ‘You should consider joining the Yaxleys for Samhain, Harry.’

The older boy’s eyes shone suddenly, and Harry felt his shock at the invitation dissipate and drift away.

‘I…’ He stopped and frowned, wondering what he was about to say. He felt a slight ripple in his magic and closed his eyes, concentrating.

Bastard tried to compel me. He realised, tasting the faint trace of alien, seductive magic. It was fading even as he swept from his mind and tightened the layers of Occlumency it had somehow flitted its way past. Thankfully, by the time he opened his eyes he’d managed to quell his anger.

‘I’m grateful for the invitation, but I suspect that my parents would be hurt if I spent Samhain with a family other than my own.’

Yaxley blinked with surprise at the calm refusal, but Harry couldn’t help but admire his recovery as he plastered a smile back into place and nodded his head in polite acceptance.

‘Of course.’

Harry stared after him as he beat a hasty retreat.

‘What was that about?’

He turned his head to face a confused looking Liram.

‘What did he want?’ His friend prompted.

Harry frowned. His gaze caught on Padma, who was staring blankly at a distant point somewhere far above his head, her mouth hanging open slightly.

‘You couldn’t hear?’ He questioned.

Liram shook his head.

‘No. He must have put up a silencing charm.’

He’s good, then. Harry thought. He was certain that the other boy hadn’t touched his wand, and for him to cast a silencing charm without Harry being aware of it, and dispel it calmly and untraceably after his invitation had been rejected, demonstrated a formidable delicacy of touch. Padma had probably been caught by the edge of the spell, and been somewhat dazed by it.

‘He wanted to invite me to his family’s Samhain celebrations.’ Harry replied, seeing no reason to withhold the information. He knew that Padma could be relied upon to see that it spread, and although news would no doubt increase the scrutiny he was under, he thought that it would cause Yaxley more discomfort. Besides, he couldn’t resist seeing his friends’ response.

They didn’t disappoint him. Padma’s absent stare snapped back onto him.

‘The Yaxleys invited you…’ She began in a furious whisper which trailed off as though she couldn’t believe what she was saying.

Liram looked hardly less shocked.

‘Are you sure?’ He asked, clearly wondering whether Harry was being serious.

Harry smirked back.

‘Completely.’ He replied, and Liram blinked as he failed to detect any humour in his friend’s expression.

‘The Yaxleys.’ Liram muttered. ‘Bloody hell. I hope you refused them?’

Harry inclined his head.

‘I did.’

Liram looked relieved.

‘Good. They’d probably have tried to use you as a sacrifice.’ He attempted to joke, but his voice rang flat, as though he thought the prospect genuinely possible.

‘The Yaxleys have that much of a reputation?’ Harry asked curiously. He knew they were old and Dark and powerful, but Liram and Padma seemed genuinely afraid.

Liram nodded hastily.

‘They’re fucking terrifying. I think Isiah is the heir to the main branch of the family, and I haven’t heard too much about his parents; I think they do some kind of work for the Ministry, but his aunts and uncles are always in and out of Azkaban.’

‘What for?’

Liram shrugged.

‘Not sure. The Prophet doesn’t really go into details, and if mum and dad know they’re not telling me. There was a rumour they got drunk and killed a load of muggles once, but I heard that from Lisa Faulks, and she thought that Ron Weasley had eaten her owl when she saw one of its feathers on his breakfast plate.’

Harry smirked with amusement even as he processed the information about the Yaxleys. Lisa Faulks had been sorted into Gryffindor and had quickly established something of a reputation for hysterical exaggerations.

-

‘Wow.’

Harry couldn’t quite hold back the soft exclamation as he stared at the tiny, mewling cheetah cub in front of him. The creature was perfect. Every single hair of its fluffy coat in place, every tiny marking inked on. As it scrambled to its feet, Harry was certain that its unsteadiness was the natural clumsiness of a kitten rather than an indication of a flaw in the magic that animated it. He cautiously stretched out a hand and ran a knuckle slowly along the cub’s back. A pair of eyes fixed on him, and the cheetah hissed, before breaking off into an adorable yawn halfway through, exposing a pink tongue and a set of tiny teeth.

It actually feels… real, he thought wonderingly.

Harry glanced up and swallowed heavily. Cedric was smiling at him, his dark eyes shining with enthusiasm.

‘Do you like him?’

The question wasn’t asked arrogantly, but the assuredness in the other boy’s voice, the cool confidence in the brilliance of his feat, almost made Harry lose his train of thought.

‘It’s incredible.’ He replied. ‘Honestly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen transfiguration like it.’

Cedric expelled a disbelieving breath, though Harry thought his cheeks darkened slightly at the compliment.

‘Really? I assume McGonagall did her usual cat-to-professor and desk-to-pig demonstrations in your first Transfiguration lesson?’

Harry nodded.

‘She did.’ He admitted. ‘And I’ve seen plenty of advanced transfigurations, even a few other animagi transformations, but…’ Harry paused, eyeing the cheetah cub rolling playfully on the blanket stretched out between their crossed legs.

‘But?’ Cedric prompted.

‘Yours seems more… alive, somehow.’ He hesitated over the word, but decided that it was the closest he could come to describing the feeling he got as he brushed his fingers through the fur of Cedric’s masterpiece and met its inquisitive gaze.

Cedric frowned and dropped his eyes to examine his own creation, clearly turning the words over in his head. Eventually, he looked up again and gave Harry a surprisingly shy smile.

‘Thank you.’

Silence fell as they played with the cub for a few more minutes. Harry conjured a tiny illusion of one of the French water deer that lived on the Flamels’ island. The silver-hided creature was perhaps not the native prey of the cheetah, but the cub’s instincts had it clumsily racing after the gracefully trotting form. Harry and Cedric chuckled at the cub’s apparent look of bewilderment when an impressive leap saw it fall straight through the illusion and land, claws spread, on the blanket with no prey to show for its troubles.

‘Professor McGonagall has offered me private tuition.’

Harry looked at him curiously.

‘Has?’

Cedric nodded.

‘Earlier this term. I’m not sure what I should do about it.’

Harry couldn’t help but wonder why Cedric seemed to be inviting his opinion on the matter, but the thought of Cedric sharing a personal debate, even over something relatively minor, was enough to pull his attention firmly away from the cheetah.

‘Why are you hesitating?’ He asked curiously. He struggled to imagine a reason for the other boy to refuse such an offer from a woman who was widely acknowledged to be one of Britain’s foremost experts on the science of transfiguration.

Cedric let out what sounded like a sigh, but which disappeared quickly into a huff of breath.

‘I want to, I think.’ He acknowledged. ‘I love transfiguration, but I have so many other things to do.’ He gestured round the Great Hall to where the other members of the Advanced Duelling Class were sat in pairs around the room sharing bits of useful magic with their chosen partner. Harry had had opportunities to see Cedric’s frankly terrifying skills with transfiguration in duels against other students, but this had been his first chance to see the older boy’s talent up close.

‘I have this class, as well as all of my others. I’ve got my OWLs this summer, and I’ve committed to four electives. I have these Ministry engagements my dad drags me to every other week to introduce me to people. Professor Sprout has me mentoring half a dozen first years. I have Quidditch training two nights a week, plus strengthening and conditioning in the mornings, and Quolo on weekends, of course.’

‘You play Quolo?’ Harry asked curiously, impressed by a list of commitments that sounded even more brutal than his own.

‘Yeah. I’m on the England junior team.’ Cedric admitted.

‘Fucking hell. Does that mean a shot at the Olympics in a couple of years?’

Cedric’s cheeks darkened at the admiration, but he grinned and nodded.

‘If I can get promoted. But even on the junior team I have to spend nearly twenty hours training over the weekends during term time, and it’s more than twice that during the holidays.’

Harry winced in sympathy.

‘Sounds painful.’

Quolo was basically the magical ancestor of the muggle game of polo. The only major difference between the two was that Quolo was played up in the air, on winged horses, and with gravity-resistant balls that hurled through the air at bone-shattering velocity.

Cedric grinned again, seeming genuinely enthused.

‘I don’t really mind the schedule. Anyway, it’s only painful if you get hit. It’s just exhausting sometimes, with all the other stuff I have to do.’

‘Which is why you’re hesitating over McGonagall’s offer?’

‘Yeah,’ Cedric agreed, but then frowned slightly and hesitated. ‘Well, that and my dad.’

‘Your dad?’ Harry prompted gently, not wanting to pry.

‘He wants me either to be a professional Quolo player or Minister for Magic.’ Cedric explained, rolling his eyes. ‘And doing advanced studies in transfiguration doesn’t really fit into either of those career paths.’

Harry didn’t like the idea of Cedric’s father making his son’s decisions for him. He wanted to ask Cedric what he wanted to do, but he hesitated. It was a question he could have asked casually, a question that was demanded by the conversation, even. And so he wondered why it seemed a weirdly intimate thing to inquire about.

‘But mentoring first years, or even this duelling class…’ Harry pointed out, choosing his words, ‘they’re not things that will make you an international Quolo star or Minister for Magic.’ He spoke slightly reluctantly: Harry certainly didn’t like the idea of Cedric abandoning the duelling class, seeing as it was the only time he got to speak to the boy who could send his heart rate up merely by entering the same room.

Cedric’s expression was sardonic.

‘No.’ He admitted. ‘But I’d be letting Professor Sprout down if I didn’t help the first years, and I really enjoy these duelling sessions with you, Harry.’

Cedric’s words came easily, but he blinked, apparently surprised, after they’d left his mouth, before his cheeks darkened again.

Harry’s own blush was forcing its way onto his face and his mouth felt dry as he tried to come up with a response. He couldn’t help the warm glow that bloomed in the pit of his stomach.

‘Umm, thanks.’ He replied ‘I’m glad you’re ok with me being here.’

Cedric’s smile was warm, and mesmerising.

‘More than ok. I think I’ve probably ended up with the best partner in the class.’

Cedric calling him his partner… did things to Harry, but he tried to stay focused on the conversation

‘So you’re only with me because I’m good?’ Harry asked playfully, raising an eyebrow.

Cedric smirked back.

‘I never said you were good.’

You make me wanna be really fucking bad.

Harry wrestled away his traitorous libido.

‘Well… you might convince me if you lasted longer than two minutes against me on the strip.’

‘Hey!’ Cedric protested. ‘I’m really proud of getting to two minutes against you! It’s not my fault that you’re basically inhuman.’

‘I’m not that good.’ Harry protested.

Cedric looked at him steadily.

‘You know exactly how good you are.’

Harry tilted his head thoughtfully.

‘Pretty much.’ He admitted. ‘I don’t know how well I’d stand up against Alicia, though.’

‘You’d beat her.’ Cedric replied without hesitation. ‘She’s good, but you’re faster.’

‘So I’m the best in Hogwarts?’ Harry asked, grinning.

‘Well, I suppose Flitwick or Dumbledore might give you a run for your galleons.’

‘You flatter me, Mr Diggory.’ Professor Flitwick chuckled, toddling over to join them and casting an inquisitive eye over the baby cheetah still rolling on the fluffy blanket between them. ‘How marvellous!’ He exclaimed. ‘I so rarely get to see any of your transfigurations up close, Mr Diggory, and it makes an old man glad to see the younger generation possessed of such talents.’

‘Thank you, professor.’ Cedric said politely.

-

‘So, will you be joining us at home for Samhain, Harry?’

Perenelle’s question was asked casually, but Harry knew her too well. She continued to nibble delicately on a water biscuit, but her eyes never left his face.

‘You don’t have to say yes.’ Nicholas interrupted, looking up from his newspaper only long enough to find his glass of port. ‘But the rites are at least interesting, and certainly don’t commit you to being a Dark wizard or any other such nonsense.’ He peered at Harry. ‘I still hope to convert you myself, of course.’

‘The rites?’ Harry asked curiously. He knew that Perenelle, as a Dark witch of ancient blood, celebrated Samhain. He’d never been invited to join her observances, however.

‘Yes.’ The alchemist replied before Perenelle could speak. ‘I’d join you as well, but the smoke gets in my lungs and apparently coughing in front of the spirits of the dead is undignified.’ He glanced at his wife as he spoke.

‘Indeed it is.’ She confirmed severely, before returning her attention to her ward. ‘You would be most welcome to join my celebrations this year, Harry. I do not, as my husband implies, seek to convert you. I might attempt to sway you to the Dark, but I would never force you to do anything.’ She paused, lifting a starched napkin from her lap and dropping it into the grasp of a waiting house elf. ‘The rites are not just about the Dark side of magic. They are about magic itself, about a thousand years of history and knowledge and tradition. The spirits of our ancestors drift towards this plane on All Hallow’s Eve, and we remember them, celebrate with them. We reaffirm our connection and our debt to the world that once was.’

Harry wondered idly how well Perenelle remembered a family that had, presumably, died some six centuries earlier. The solemnity of her request made an impression, however, and his curiosity was always easy to arouse.

‘I would be honoured.’ He replied, and Perenelle smiled.

‘I’m glad. I will write to Albus and have you excused from school.’

-

‘Adonis! No!’

Harry’s cat, as usual, elected to ignore him.

The barn owl hooted indignantly and fluttered over to perch at the foot of Harry’s bed as its place on the windowsill was taken by Adonis, who turned on the spot and narrowed his golden eyes balefully at the bird.

Harry, lying on his front with a book open in front of him, glanced disapprovingly at Adonis before reaching up to detach the small cream envelope from the owl’s outstretched leg.

‘Thank you.’ He said to the bird politely, which bobbed its head in mute reply. He took the fact that it stayed where it was, head occasionally swivelling to stare at the cat still sulking in the pale sunlight on the windowsill, as an indication that it intended to wait for a reply.

Harry smiled as he recognised the handwriting on the front of the envelope, before turning it over and frowning slightly at the sight of the pale green seal that held it closed. A tiny swan in flight, the crest of the Cisneros family, was pressed into the wax. It was strange that Isabella had used her family seal to mark correspondence between friends, Harry thought as he broke the wax and pulled out a sheet of parchment.

Dear Harry,

I am sorry that I have not had a chance to write to you thus far, although I note that you could make the same apology. School has been very distracting, but I should not have allowed it to prevent corresponding with you. How are you? How is Hogwarts? And Adonis? Have you made friends? If so, Sebastien will be terribly jealous.

Beauxbatons is wonderful! We have had new gardens built over the summer, full of roses and fountains. I sure that your mother would love them (it was probably her money that funded their construction). As I’m quite sure you know, Nathalie…

Harry’s head jerked up in response to a blur at the corner of his vision. He reached out instinctively to grasp for Adonis as he landed next to him on the bed. The barn owl took off again, gliding to the top of a tall wardrobe on the far side of the otherwise empty dormitory. The cat slipped Harry’s grasp to run across the room. Harry watched with amusement as he paced across the shadow at the base of the wardrobe, staring up at the smug-looking owl and mewling with irritation.

Harry was about to return to Isabella’s letter, confident of the owl’s survival, when Adonis suddenly leapt and began scrabbling his way up the side of the wardrobe. Harry winced at the scratching sound, though he knew a quick charm would repair the damage, but remained, like the owl, unconcerned. Adonis’ momentum rapidly dissipated and he slid slowly back down the polished surface and disappeared.

Harry blinked.

He barely had time to register a sudden, triumphant ‘Meow’ before the barn owl was dive-bombing off the top of the wardrobe, trailing a flutter of dislodged feathers.

Harry blinked again as he looked up and met the golden stare of his cat, perched atop the wardrobe and, in spite of his escaped prey, looking strangely pleased with himself.

‘Umm.’ Harry said, an uncertain sound he allowed himself because he was the only human present. ‘How?’

Adonis remained mute, gazing steadily at his owner, tail curled neatly around his seated form.

‘Did you, Apparate?’

Adonis rose to his feet, and Harry thought that if a cat could sigh with exasperation, then his would be.

A wooden carving in the shape of an eagle, perhaps a foot in height, was mounted on top of Anthony’s wardrobe. Adonis paced slowly towards it, seemed to nose the area immediately behind it for a brief moment, before continuing forwards. As his cat passed behind the eagle, however, instead of reappearing on the far side, he disappeared. For a fraction of a second, Harry’s confused gaze took in a wooden eagle that seemed to have sprouted a fluffy black tail, before that, too, vanished.

‘Meow.’

Harry met the cat’s stare as Adonis nudged his hand.

‘Merlin, my cat can teleport.’ He muttered.

-

‘Ah! Harry!’ The headmaster exclaimed cheerfully.

Harry stepped into Albus Dumbledore’s office and felt the sense of calm that it always seemed to instil wash over him. Fawkes fluttered gracefully down from his perch to sit on the edge of the breakfast table. Harry smiled and stroked the phoenix as he leant in for attention.

Professor Dumbledore looked at the the pair of them benevolently and rounded his desk to take his own seat, throwing his long beard over one shoulder and helping himself to grilled tomatoes.

‘I am sorry to have had to cancel our last couple of meetings.’ The headmaster apologised. ‘I have had some rather pressing matters to deal with, and I suspect that you would have found me rather distracted.’

‘Not at all, headmaster.’ Harry replied politely. ‘I am grateful to have had the chances to lie in.’

Albus Dumbledore chucked, before spearing half a tomato with his fork and eating it whole.

‘I’m sure. I know that you have many other things to occupy your time. I am very much looking forward to seeing you play Quidditch. I have been informed that the Ravenclaws have been particularly conscientious with their practices this term.’

‘Yes, sir, but presumably you’ll be supporting Gryffindor?’ It was well known that Dumbledore had been a lion whilst a student at Hogwarts, although Harry somehow doubted that the headmaster had ever been a Quidditch player himself.

‘Certainly not!’ Professor Dumbledore exclaimed, looking almost offended. ‘When one dons the mantle of headmaster, one must leave behind all allegiance to one’s old house and remain strictly impartial. As such, I will be cheering for good sportsmanship, teamwork, and skill. In that order.’

‘Well, you’ll be cheering for Ravenclaw then, sir.’ Harry replied, grinning.

The headmaster chuckled, feeding a piece of toast so blackened it was almost charcoal to Fawkes.

‘I am glad to hear it. But now, onto more serious matters.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Harry nodded.

‘Hummmm.’ The headmaster paused ‘What do you know about the Wizengamot?’

Harry frowned and wondered how Dumbledore wanted him to answer the question.

‘It’s an elected body of a hundred witches and wizards, and represents the highest authority in Magical Britain.’

Dumbledore smiled gently.

‘But what is its purpose?’

‘To ratify the legislation put before it by the Minister.’

‘Yes, very good.’

Harry couldn’t help but wonder whether Dumbledore was patronising him.

‘So does the Wizengamot itself have any power to write legislation?’ The headmaster asked him.

‘No, only to vote the bills put before it into law,’ Harry began, ‘and to set the level of taxation across the country, of course.’

‘Indeed, and well put.’

Their discussion continued through breakfast in a similar vein. Professor Dumbledore would ask Harry a question, and Harry would answer. He managed to do so adequately until his second glass of orange juice, at which point the headmaster began to add comments and clarifications after each of his answers. Harry had to admit that the man knew how to teach. His words were measured, his observations incisive. Harry could feel his brain quietly filing away valuable information as he helped himself to yoghurt.

-

‘There was just one more thing, Harry.’

Dumbledore had waited until he was halfway to the door before speaking.

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Professor Lupin.’ The headmaster said, stroking his phoenix softly and looking deep in thought.

‘Sir?’

‘He was a friend of your parents.’

Harry lifted a surprised eyebrow.

‘I didn’t know, sir.’

Professor Dumbledore smiled softly.

‘No. I didn’t think you did. But I’m sure that Professor Lupin would be more than willing to speak to you about them, should you so desire.’

The old man’s smile was soft and genuine, and Harry couldn’t deny the prickle of excitement at the thought of learning about his parents from someone who had been close to them, so he wasn’t quite sure why he found himself feeling slightly disquieted.

-

Hogwarts’ library was a long, low-ceilinged room that smelt of dust and magic. Harry entered cautiously. He’d been at school for nearly two months now, and this was his first visit to the domain of the infamous Madame Pince. He’d had no need of the Hogwarts’ library because he’d been careful to buy all of his schoolbooks in advance, and had weekly access to the vast Flamel collections. It was Friday afternoon, however, and he wouldn’t be going home until Sunday. He was far too impatient to wait to try and find out more about his newly-teleporting cat.

He glanced at a few of the bookshelves as he walked past, only to find that none of them seemed to have any filing system. He started to regret not bringing Liram or Anthony with him to help, but they’d certainly want to know what he was looking for and Harry wasn’t sure that he wanted to share his project.

Well, I suppose I’d better grasp the bull by the horns. Harry thought after wandering aimlessly for a couple of minutes and finding no information about how things were organised. Or rather, he corrected himself, reaching a big desk crouched in a dark corner, the librarian by the spectacles.

Madame Pince didn’t look up as he approached, continuing to scratch away at a length of parchment with a quill that had seen better days.

‘Excuse me.’ He said politely after waiting for a few seconds.

A pair of beady eyes behind thick, murky lenses jerked up to examine him.

‘Yes?’ She asked sharply.

‘Could you possibly tell me where the section of the library dedicated to magical creatures is?’

Harry didn’t quail under Perenelle’s glares anymore, and so he was immune to the one he now found himself the subject of.

‘Library inductions happened during the second week of term, young man. If you find yourself unable to navigate because you couldn’t be bothered to attend, then perhaps my library is happiest without your presence.’

Harry barely managed to hold back his surprise at the abrupt dismissal.

‘I must apologise. I’m afraid I was forced to miss the induction sessions by unavoidable commitments.’ In truth, he hadn’t even had the faintest idea that the sessions had happened.

‘Humph.’ Madame Pince didn’t seem impressed. ‘Fourth row from the entrance, left hand side, three cases next to the wall.’

‘Thank you.’ Harry left quickly, not wanting to test his luck.

Five minutes later he was carrying Montague Herbington’s Familiars of the Pharaohs, Persephone Wormwood’s Encyclopaedia of Magical Felines and Arthur Francis-Charleston’s Creatures from the Dust of Egypt to a table.

‘Hi.’

Hermione Granger, bent over a length of parchment in a library that, unsurprisingly for a Friday afternoon, was almost empty, finished scratching out her sentence before looking up. When she saw who it was, her face froze.

‘Umm, hello.’

She looked nonplussed when he sat down opposite her, and she glanced around the slew of unoccupied tables nearby.

‘You don’t have to sit with me.’

Harry blinked at her, genuinely slightly confused by the suspicion in her voice.

‘But I wanted to.’

‘You wanted to persuade me to admire you like everyone else does?'

Harry hesitated. That hadn’t really been his motivation for joining the bushy-haired Gryffindor, or at least he hoped it hadn’t.

‘No. I came to do some reading, and thought I’d join you.’ He replied, smiling. ‘The only two people willing to spend their Friday evening in the library, well, apart from Madame Pince.’

‘You mean the only two people boring enough.’ Hermione snorted back.

Harry grinned.

‘Something like that.’

Hermione suddenly looked miserable.

‘Is something wrong?’ Harry asked softly.

He almost quailed under the glare she suddenly directed at him.

‘I’m here every Friday. And Saturday. And Sunday.’ She said bitterly, almost angrily. ‘And this is the first time I’ve ever seen you in the library. So, eight weeks from the start of term, that makes me what, twenty times as boring as you?’

At least.

Harry chose not to say that out loud.

‘Hardly.’ He said, holding his smile. ‘Twenty times harder working, maybe.’

That didn’t seem to help.

‘And you’re still winning!’ Hermione exclaimed.

‘Winning?’ Harry asked, confused, taking out his wand to cast a silencing ward that would hopefully prevent Madame Pince from coming to drag them off to her torture chamber.

‘Yes, winning.’ Hermione replied emphatically. ‘I can’t beat you in any class, except maybe History of Magic, and that’s only because you don’t bother turning up most of the time.’

It was true, Hermione couldn’t beat him, and he hadn’t been to a History of Magic lesson in weeks.

‘Umm, it’s not a competition?’ He offered. He really didn’t consider it one, to be honest, but only because Hermione wasn’t even on his radar as a threat.

‘Of course it’s a competition.’ She snapped. ‘And now you’ve come to make friends with me, to prove to yourself that you can charm even someone who hates you?’

Harry blinked again.

‘You hate me?’

It was strange to see a genuinely vicious sneer on the face of a girl who looked fluffy even when she glared.

‘You are everything I hate. Smug. Entitled. Lazy. Arrogant. And clever and rich and confident enough that none of that matters, because you still win. Everything I have, I work for. I hate everything that you are, and I hate even more that, whatever I do, I can never match it.’

Harry fell back into his chair, shocked. He could defend himself from most of what she’d said, but some of it was true. He was arrogant, and although it sometimes made him feel uncomfortable, like a charity case, growing up with the Flamels was enough to make almost anyone somewhat entitled. He knew Hermione was a girl from a muggle family, who’d probably been bullied at her old school, and was friendless even at Hogwarts. Even overcoming the lack of a magical upbringing would be a mountain for her to climb, let alone being a shy person wrestling with the social life of a strange new world.

‘Don’t pity me!’ She exclaimed furiously, apparently all to aware of the direction his thoughts had taken.

‘I don’t.’ He hastened to assure her. They were probably too different to ever be friends, he decided, but he didn’t really want to be enemies with the girl. ‘I admire you. I respect that you’re already one of the best students in our year in spite of only having learned about magic a few months ago.’

‘I don’t believe you.’ Hermione declared, and she looked close to tears. ‘And don’t patronise me!’

She slammed the large tome she had open in front of her shut, hastily rolled up the parchment she’d been writing on, shoved everything into her bag, and stormed out.

-


End file.
